Learning To Feel
by Shirleylocked
Summary: Two years John suffered after Sherlock's death until a woman passed out in front of 221B, identical to the dead detective. When John learns that Sherlock is alive, secrets are reveiled and Sherlock has to chose between his two loves, leaving one to die.
1. A Matter of Life, Death, and Falling

So, I have fallen head over heals with Shelock, and this sort of fell into my head. In case you are all wondering, I'm American, so pardon me if I make a few mistakes, I've never been to England and i don't pretend to be an expert on their dialect. I don't own Sherlock either...if i did...things would be a bit different.

This will be rated M for violence and something a bit more than a Bromance, perhaps. There will be an extra character in it, hope you like my post-Fall story. :)

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A Matter of Life, Death, and Falling

"Shirley! Come on, you're next!" The ten year old girl bit her lip. Her grey eyes filled with terror. She was an adorable child, with wavy black locks and perfect features. She was tall for her age and had pretty, full, pink lips. A dark blue scarf was wrapped around her neck.

"Don't worry Sher…" A calm, warm voice stated. Shirley turned and smiled widely.

"SHERLOCK!" She shouted, running forward and wrapping her hands around the boy in front of her. He had short, curly black hair and grey eyes identical to the girl in front of him.

"You'll do fine. You are amazing. I'll be standing just off stage." Sherlock promised.

"You're better than I am… Why can't you play?"

"Mom wanted you to play, and Mycroft broke my violin." Sherlock glared at the ground before sighing and grabbing his sister's wrist. "Your pulse is elevated, you're sweating… Relax, there's no need to be nervous." He sighed, touching her cheek gently.

"What if I mess up? Dad would be mad."

"He can't be mad at you, you've only just learned the song a week ago." Sherlock said, then his eyes lit up. "Watch me… If you forget, I will show you what to do. I will be standing right off stage."

"Promise?"

"Sher, when haven't I been there for you? I love you… I'll never let you fall."

"I'll never let you fall either." Shirley promised.

"SHIRLEY HOLMES!" A cross shout came from outside the door.

"That's you." Sherlock winked. He grabbed the violin in his hands and gently handed it to Shirley. He kissed her cheek before handing her the bow. They each placed a hand on each other's necks before Shirley walked out of the room, a cool confidence taking over her entire being. Sherlock left the room only to walk directly into Mycroft.

"Come along, Mummy wants you to sit with us." The older boy ordered.

"No, I'm standing on stage with Sher." Sherlock refused and brushed past his brother.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft called, but his brother had already made his way into the curtains that surrounded the stage. Sherlock pushed his way through the black curtains and looked at his sister who stood in front of a crowd with her violin on her shoulder. Her eyes lit up when they met her brother's and he nodded at her encouragingly, lifting his arms to mirror her. Together the pair of them made their way through an enchanting song that might have made Mozart turn over in his grave. Shirley smiled and bowed to the crowd who accepted her with thunderous applause and many tears. Shirley walked quickly off of the stage and wrapped her arms tightly around her brother.

"Thank you." Shirley whispered.

"No problem. Anything to make sure you don't fall." Sherlock grinned.

"Mummy wants you to meet her around the corner in fifteen minutes, you two." Mycroft stated.

"Obviously." Sherlock scoffed.

"Now, now…be nice." Shirley said. "Go on and quit antagonizing your brother." Shirley said in a calming tone to Mycroft. Mycroft sighed and walked away, knowing Shirley would protect Sherlock over him any day of the week. "Let's put my instrument away and sneak out of the back side of the theater… I hate people and crowds."

"That makes two of us." Sherlock smiled, leading his sister back to the warm up room. Shirley gently placed her violin in the case before closing it. "It was a beautiful performance."

"Thank you." Shirley said with a light blush. Sherlock grabbed her hand and pulled her through the halls and towards a window. "The fire escape?" Shirley grinned.

"Only way to travel," Sherlock agreed, his suit swished slightly as he moved. "Out of sight of all of the dull people."

"Of course, I can't stand the lot of them," Shirley chuckled.

"By your lead," Sherlock bowed to his sister, who crawled out of the window easily even in her floor-length, black, gown. Sherlock followed her and they easily raced down the stairs, laughing lightly the whole way. They got to the ally way and froze. Standing in the middle of their way was a tall, muscular man in his early twenties. Sherlock and Shirley looked at the man with their all seeing eyes. "Murderer," Sherlock stated just a second faster than Shirley. They both saw his stance and the gun he concealed.

"Very astute… I heard the Holmes' were a sharp lot." The man rasped. Sherlock stepped in front of Shirley, but she grabbed his hand tightly and held him at her side, her eyes roaming the murderer more thoroughly than Sherlock's eyes had. "Touching performance in there…" He smiled at Shirley.

"Leave us alone." Sherlock hissed.

"I don't think so." Sherlock took a step forward but Shirley pulled him back and shook her head sadly.

"Don't…" Shirley said slowly. Instantly Sherlock's attention was brought to what Shirley had observed and his mind reeled in horror.

"But you know what he's doing!" Sherlock protested.

"Yes, I do…but it's not worth us both getting hurt is it?" Shirley said calmly. "Just one of us… We don't both need to fall."

"No!" Sherlock shouted, lunging forward towards the man. The man drew his concealed gun and pressed it to Sherlock's temple.

"Don't." Shirley said in a firm voice. Even with her small frame her alto voice was intimidating. "He's not the one you came here for… You and I both know what you came here for."

"Sher, don't…please." Sherlock begged, forgetting the gun at his temple.

"I won't run. Just leave him alone. He isn't going to hurt anyone." Shirley promised.

"Shut up, Sher!" Sherlock hissed.

"You're right… This isn't about him…" The man pushed Sherlock to the ground and walked to Shirley who stood quite bravely in front of the man. Sherlock stood up and ran at the man trying to pull him back. The man hit Sherlock in the face with his gun and Sherlock fell in a heap on the ground. Shirley stood over her brother and wrapped her scarf around his neck before placing her violin at his side.

"I can't let him make you fall… This way only one of us falls... We don't both have to die, Sherlock." She kissed his head gently. Sherlock reached for her, his vision failing. "I love you…" She promised. He reached for her, but the man behind her ripped her away, covering her mouth with a white cloth before carrying her limp form out of the side street and into a car that drove away without anyone's notice. Well…except for Sherlock, who passed out a second later.

Sherlock thought back for a moment as he sat in the lab. His plan was already set in motion. Mycroft had gotten John to leave and chase off after Mrs. Hudson and Molly was ready to fake all of the records. There were only two loose ends. The actual fall…and Moriarty. Sherlock pulled out his phone and looked at it slowly before texting his enemy.

**Come and play. Bart's Hospital rooftop. SH **

**PS Got something of yours you might want back.**

Sherlock smiled and hit send before he looked back down at his phone and typed the next text quickly.

**Shirley… I need help. It's a matter of life, death, and falling… SH**

**What do you need? Anything for you. ~SH**

Sherlock smiled at the immediate response.

**I need you to fall from a first story window looking exactly like me… SH**

**Does it need to look like an authentic suicide? ~SH**

**Yes. SH**

**I can handle it… Are all the necessary materials in place? ~SH**

**Yes. SH**

**Where do you need me? ~SH**

**Bart's… SH**

**Be there in three minutes… ~SH**

"Isn't that what people do? Leave a note?" Sherlock said slowly a tear rolling down his face as he stood on the edge of the building. He knew John would never listen to him, as his protests obviously stated. He knew John would dwell on his death…and he knew he didn't want to be away from John his _one _friend, but he knew he had to. "Goodbye, John…"

"_No…Don't…" _John's voice rang in Sherlock's ear for a moment. Sherlock threw his mobile to the ground before taking a deep breath. "**SHERLOCK**!" The voice echoed in Sherlock's ears before he jumped. Sherlock felt himself land lightly in the bed of a large red truck that was filled with different bags. He heard a loud thud where he should have landed and looked over to his right. An exact replica of himself lay on the ground, motionless, blood draining from a head wound as nurses and Mycroft's men swarmed the body. Sherlock saw John in the midst of all the panic and his heart broke when he saw the look of devastation on his friend's face.

The truck began to move and Sherlock ducked back down into his hiding place as the nurses moved the limp replica of himself away. An hour out of London, Sherlock got out of the truck and walked into the forest.

**I just woke up. Where are you? ~SH**

**Are you sure you should be driving? SH**

**Quit babying me… Grandma's house? ~SH**

**Correct again… SH**

**Half way there already. ~SH**

Sherlock chuckled at the ability his sister had to read his mind. Even when they were kids they had had a very strange relationship. They knew when the other was in pain, could practically read each other's thoughts (though Shirley was most adapt at reading every single emotion that passed through Sherlock's mind—much to his dismay), and they could almost always find each other, so long as they were relatively close. For some strange reason, Shirley always seemed to be a few steps ahead of him. Sherlock walked quickly through the forest before he sat on the grand steps of his grandmother's old house, waiting.

A plain car pulled up twenty minutes later and a tall woman stepped out of the car. She wore a long black coat and a suit underneath. Her hair was jet black and curled around her face, which was painted a pale white color. Her grey eyes landed on Sherlock and she smiled.

"You walked out of the mortuary looking like that?" Sherlock asked incredulously. The blood that was matted in her hair and caked against her forehead was obviously quite real. "You cut yourself."

"Needed to make it look realistic." Shirley shrugged.

"So you took the medicine…"

"And Molly pushed me out of the window…well rolled me more like… I landed, thudded my head, bled a bit and got dragged away before being woken up a few minutes later."

"Everyone believed it?"

"Yes." Shirley nodded.

"The shooters?"

"Dead… Mycroft made sure of it." Shirley smiled, then frowned.

"You can't tell him you're alive." Sherlock stated, knowing exactly what she was thinking.

"I know… I still want to though…" Shirley pouted before sitting next to Sherlock. "You're going to hunt every last one of them down now, aren't you?"

"Yes…" Sherlock nodded. She grabbed Sherlock's hand gently in comfort. "How did you pass off as me?"

"Lots of make-up to hide the slight differences between our faces…and some padding to hide my curves… Other than that it was easy." Shirley frowned. "I had to cut my hair."

"Sorry."

"You're never sorry." Shirley grinned. Sherlock looked at Shirley seriously.

"Take care of John. Watch out for him. I—" Shirley covered her twin's mouth with her hand.

"I know what he means to you. I'll protect him with my life." Shirley promised removing her hand.

"With your life?" Sherlock quirked a brow.

"I know more about you than you do." Shirley sighed cryptically.

"If you say so…"

"I stopped to top off the car… Drive anywhere you need to. I'll call a taxi to fetch me." Shirley offered.

"Thank you." Sherlock nodded and stood up.

"Anything for you." Shirley replied simply. "I'll text you with updates."

"I won't be able to reply."

"You won't have to." Shirley nodded. "If I don't send my normal signature assume something is wrong, otherwise don't worry about matters here. I can handle them."

"Stay out of Mycroft's sight."

"I'm a master at disguise." She laughed, pointing towards her bloody head.

"Take care of him."

"I will, I promise." Sherlock nodded before he got into the car and pulled away, leaving his life behind for a completely different one. Shirley reached into the space between the pants she wore and the small of her back to pull out a gun. She looked at it for a moment before nodding.

"Protect John…no matter what..."

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Any questions, comments, smart remarks? I listen to them all. :P


	2. So Familiar

So, as I was writing this I was watching A Scandal in Belgravia... Just so you know. Its nearly 3 thousand words... I was a bit proud of that. Again, i should remind you, I don't own Sherlock, if I did I would be the happiest person in the world. Hope this is up to par for everyone. :)

Happy readings.

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So Familiar

John limped slowly around 221B. Even after two years he couldn't force himself to move out of the flat, even though he knew that it was ruining him, poisoning his mind… He just couldn't bear to let Sherlock go. He slowly pulled on his coat and stared at the place where Sherlock's coat and scarf would have hung. He shook his head and looked down at his shaking hand, wishing that it would just stop shaking for once.

He walked slowly out of the flat and took the usual, routine taxi ride to the cemetery. He walked slowly down the worn path before sitting in front of Sherlock's tombstone. He saw red roses laying across the grave and knew that Mrs. Hudson must have left them there. "You wouldn't see the point in the roses if you were here… You'd think it was foolish that Mrs. Hudson left them here. You would have told her that she needn't have wasted her money on them. You always did tell the truth, no matter how harsh." A twig snapped and John whirled around looking at his surroundings, but all he saw was the figure of a very tall, slender woman walking several rows away from him, wearing a bright white pea coat.

He looked away from the woman and looked back down at Sherlock's grave. "I only asked for one thing Sherlock… Can't you just give me this last miracle? I can't stand this any longer, Sherlock… You'd hate me if you saw the state of things… I'm not right anymore… It's been two years, but it all still hurts like a fresh wound… I can see you fall every time I close my eyes, it drives me mad Sherlock…" John said, his hand grabbing the gun he had concealed behind his back. He jumped when his mobile rang shrilly in his pocket. He let go of the gun and pulled out his phone.

Blocked Number

John looked at it curiously and answered the call. "Hello…?" He heard someone breathing on the other side of the line and then he heard a voice he knew far too well.

"Get up and leave. Don't sit there any longer, and do get rid of that gun, shooting yourself won't do any good." Mycroft stated. His voice seemed muffled to John, but still the same, demanding as always.

"How do you know about the gun?"

"I'm watching you… This isn't the first time I've seen a gun in your hands, leave it on the stone. Walk away." John hung up the phone with a huff and left his gun on Sherlock's grave before limping out of the graveyard. After a moment of silence the girl in the white pea coat hung up her phone and placed it in her pocket. She looked down at the grave that was her own before she turned and walked to her brother's grave. She picked up the gun and hid it inside her coat.

"I'm still protecting him, you know…but you better hurry your arse up. He isn't going to make it much longer… Sooner or later I won't be able to protect him from himself. You are so idiotic sometimes, especially about feelings." Shirley hissed. She grabbed her phone and quickly began to text a quick message.

**He almost died today, be glad I was here. You owe me one…for him. ~SH**

John slowly limped to the kitchen, frowning at the yellow smiley on the wall that reminded him of Sherlock yet again. He moved to grab the kettle when he heard a horn blare outside on the street and a woman shriek. He moved as quickly as he could, even with his limp and got down the stairs quickly.

When he got outside he saw a young woman sprawled out in front of his door, lying still on the pavement. A gash bled on her forehead staining her white coat, but otherwise she looked unharmed. Her breathing was calm. John instantly wrapped his arms around the girl and carried her up the stairs gently before laying her down on the couch. He moved to the sink and grabbed a wet washcloth and a first aid kit he had stashed in the house before returning to the woman's side. He gently pulled off her blood-caked coat and moved her shoulder-length hair out of her face before he cleared off the blood from the gash the hard sidewalk had given her.

He gasped when he finally saw her face. She looked strikingly familiar. Her cheekbones were sharp and high. Her face was thin and beautiful. Her nose was perfectly straight and her pale pink lips were full. Her forehead was slightly wider than perfectly in proportion with the rest of her fair face, but she made looked beautiful nonetheless. Her black, curly hair hung loosely around her pale skinned face.

She looked so much like Sherlock that John nearly fainted.

The doctor reassured himself over and over again that the feminine body in front of him couldn't be Sherlock, but he still couldn't get over the resemblance. Her face was calm, just as Sherlock's had always been when he was thinking deeply. "She's not Sherlock, pull yourself together!" John snapped at himself. He cleaned the cut in her head and carefully bandaged it. He sat in his chair across from the unconscious girl silently.

Why had she fallen in front of 221B? Why did she have such a striking resemblance to the man John still constantly had nightmares about? Why did she have to drag up everything the good doctor had been trying to drown for two years?

John fell asleep in the chair, staring at the girl, pretending she was Sherlock, just to give his mind a little bit of peace for once.

"Mmmm." A groan filled the room and John jolted away instantly. He saw the girl across from him move and twitch slightly in her sleep. He stood up and placed a hand gently on her face, but she grabbed his hand and twisted it, putting enough pressure on it that she could have easily broken his arm if she wanted to. She opened her eyes and John gasped in shock at the sharp grey-blue eyes. She instantly released his arm, as if she had been burned. "Sorry…" She whispered in a scratchy, alto voice.

"Are you alright? You look a bit peaky." John stated, rubbing his arm gingerly. She obviously had major problems with people touching her, so he made a mental note not to touch her again.

"My head hurts… Where am I?" She asked, but she knew exactly where she was.

"Baker Street, 221B Baker Street." John answered. "I'm sorry I dragged you in here. I'm a Doctor and I couldn't just leave you out there."

"Thank you…" She sighed before sitting up slowly. John reached out to help her but she pulled away from him. "Sorry, it's nothing personal I can assure you that. It's just my normal reaction."

"I'm not going to hurt you… I'm not kidnapping you or anything." John promised.

"I know that… I know what kidnapping is like, and this is not it." She said gesturing to the room around her. John looked at her strangely.

"What's your name?"

_Uh-oh… _Shirley thought… _If I say Shirley he will be upset, I already remind him too much of Sherlock based on the strangled look on his face. His emotions are nothing but pain and agony…he's thinking of Sherlock for sure… What name do I have that I will remember? Sherlock—OH! _"Avery," she replied after less than a second of thought.

"I'm John." He nodded. "Do you need anything? Tea? Pain relievers?"

"Tea would be nice, thank you." Shirley smiled warmly at him. The instant he was out of the room she pulled open her phone.

**They found me and tried to knock me out… I left one unconscious, but the other is still out there… I passed out. Sorry. SH**

**Where are you? Are you alright? Tell me where you are, I'll come and get you. SH**

"Shite…" Shirley hissed to herself. One of her buttons hadn't worked on her phone… Sherlock now thought she was in trouble. _I give him two hours before he finds me…_

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, sorry. My damn head is making me woozy." Shirley lied to John as he set tea down in front of her. Shirley felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and looked at the message quickly.

**Tell me where to find you. SH**

"Who's that?" John wondered.

"My extremely over-protective brother." Shirley answered with a slight sigh. She knew that there was no way she could possibly fix her mistake, no matter how many times she told Sherlock that she was safe, she knew he would still come and find her. "I'm sorry I've disrupted your day."

"Don't worry about it… You didn't intentionally hurt yourself." John shrugged.

_Didn't I? I recall running quite quickly through traffic, that was intentional. _Shirley looked at another text message that arrived.

Damn it where are you? SH

"He must be worried about you." John commented.

"He can wait for once in his life. He doesn't need to get everything he wants the second he asks for it, the spoiled git." Shirley scoffed truthfully, taking a sip of the tea in front of her. Her eyes scanned the room quickly. Everything that had been Sherlock's remained untouched and covered with dust, left exactly how it was, preserved. Shirley suddenly noticed John's eyes boring a hole in her face. "What are you staring at?"

"You…just look so familiar." John sighed. "You look like someone I used to know."

"Sherlock Holmes? I get that a lot. Everyone I meet says that I look like him." Shirley shrugged.

"How did you know—"

"221B Baker Street? It wasn't very hard to figure out who you were talking about. He was acquitted last year wasn't he? Moriarty was an evil bastard, if you asked me. I never believed for one second Sherlock could do anything that crazy." Shirley said truthfully. "I feel terrible for the poor soul…however I feel worse for you."

"I don't need nor want anyone's pity." John snapped.

"I know… I understand. I've lost people I've loved before as well. I know what it feels like." Shirley frowned. Her eyes caught on a violin that was sitting out of its case with the bow lying next to it. She knew that violin; it was hers…from ages ago. She couldn't help but reach out for the dusty thing that she knew must be completely out of tune.

"Don't touch that!" John stated, before taking a breath and relaxing. "It's his."

"You think he's coming back." Shirley said. "If you didn't think he was coming back you would have gotten rid of his things." Shirley observed, she saw John wince at her deduction and she scolded herself for showing off. She was normally more reserved, but Sherlock rubbed off on her, making her show off a bit more like her brothers. "You should really have the violin tuned, it's no good sitting their deteriorating. Instruments are meant to be played."

"You play?"

"I was once a piano and vocal prodigy…but father made all of his children learn the violin, he thought it more elegant than what I was truly interested in." Shirley stated. "May I, please?" Shirley asked cautiously. John stared at the instrument for a long time, remembering the last hands that had touched it, but he nodded. Shirley picked up the instrument and dusted it gently with her hand. She sang a few notes before making sure each string matched each pitch she hummed.

Shirley lifted the delicate bow and ran it with grace and ease across the strings. She coaxed a few measures of a sweet song out of the perfectly tuned violin before setting it back down again and smiling at it. Shirley jumped at the feel of her phone vibrating and looked at the new text.

**I'll be there soon. Is he alright? Is he safe as well? SH**

Shirley placed her phone back in her pocket and looked at John. "I haven't played in a long time, but I'm sure Sherlock would rather have the violin in proper shape than let it crumble."

"I'm sure he would…" John commented. They sat in silence for a long moment, Shirley sipping on her tea lightly until loud footsteps came up the stairs quickly.

"Oh dear, he's getting slow." Shirley commented, looking at her watch. The door burst open and instantly John was on his feet staring at the intruder. The man was extremely tall, with greying, blond hair and blue-grey eyes. He wore jeans and a sweater that was snug around his slightly protruding waist.

"There you are…" He sighed in relief, his tone was a light, airy tenor voice.

"I expected you to get here sooner. You're losing your touch. I could have been dead." Shirley said, setting her tea down gently.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to take care of my sister." The man stated. His eyes were locked on John, his face, eyes, appearance. _Two days, same clothes… He hasn't changed since he met Sher. Bruising under the eyes, restless sleep. Thinner than normal, not eating. Psychosomatic limp… Why? Stress? Agony? Hair messy, restless. Tense posture, under stress. Hand shaking, PTSD. Dust on everything that was mine, why aren't my things gone? Hope… He thinks I'll come back. Nothing of mine moved, except the violin—Sher touched it as it has obviously been tuned and played. He refuses to move out, haunted by past, but not wanting to move on, loyalty even after two years… He's been through hell. _

"Avery's your sister?" John asked, looking between the two of them. "You look nothing alike."

"At first glance…" Shirley muttered. Sherlock glared at her.

"Why did you send me a panic text?" Sherlock asked in an angry voice, a voice filled with scolding that Shirley knew well.

"I just woke up from being knocked out, I missed a button on the keypad, I apologize." Shirley scoffed. "I didn't ask you to come running."

"You said they found you—"

"They did, I'm just smarter than they are—"

"You got knocked out—"

"I got saved—"

"Barely—"

"I am safe, don't you dare fight me on this! It was a mistake! Quit treating me like an invalid." Shirley snapped. She looked down at the ground. John took a step in front of Shirley.

"Is he the one who hit you? Who hurts you? I'm not idiotic, I could see the signs of abuse in you." John said when he saw the stunned look on Shirley's face.

"He would never hurt me… He can be a cruel bastard with the way he speaks, but he would never physically hurt me." Shirley reassured him before turning on her brother once again. "There are only two left, you know. You need to tell him."

"Two left means that there are two who can still carry out old orders." Sherlock said, his form stiffening slightly.

"You tell him or _I _will." Shirley demanded.

"No." Sherlock said firmly.

"Tell him." Shirley hissed. John looked back and forth between the pair of them, thinking them both insane, though he worried the poor girl might not be able to handle the man on her own, no matter how she tried to stand up to him.

"No! I won't do it, not until my job is done!"

"He's nearly committed suicide twenty times in the past month… If it weren't for me, he's be dead. I can't let him live like this any longer. You may not realize just how badly this hurt him, but I do… I can feel things."

"No…"

"I'm not going to let him fall." Shirley said in a tone of finality. Sherlock's eyes went wide and dark. Shirley turned and smiled pleasantly at the doctor. She held out her hand to him politely, which he shook as she spoke. "I apologize for lying to you earlier. My name is Shirley Avery Holmes and that is my brother, Sherlock who happens to be a stubborn arse." John glanced at the strange looking man that the girl in front of him claimed was Sherlock.

"I'm sorry, I can't believe that… I watched him die...fall." John said letting go of her hand. Shirley nearly tackled her brother, pulling off his disguise a piece at a time until a tall, slender, handsome man was all that was left. John and Sherlock stared at each other for a long moment. "Sherlock?" There was nothing but relief at first, but then anger came to Johns mind, pure anger with Sherlock's ability to lie to him about something so important.

"John…" Sherlock sighed, sending a sharp glare at his sister, yet feeling relieved that she had intervened. His relief didn't last long though…John punched him squarely in the face before collapsing, unconscious, in shock.

* * *

Yeah, I would have punched Sherlock too. The dirt bag... Anyway, hope you liked it. I will try to get something done in the way of writing this weekend, but i have six lacross games to go to for my brother and his team, wish him luck.

If you liked it, review and I'll send you an air hug. If you didn't like it, review and tell me how i messed up, I might send you an air hug as well. :)


	3. The Fall

So, I burned myself at the games I went to today. I look like someone punched me in the face because there was one circular spot that the sunscreen didn't protect, so I get to pretend that i beat someone up. :) Anyway, John gets to learn about Sherlock's fall now. I really don't own Sherlock, no matter how much I wish I did.

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The Fall

"Why isn't he waking up? Shouldn't he be awake by now?" Sherlock asked in a panicked voice. Shirley put her arms on his shoulders gently.

"He'll be alright, just give him some time, he thought you were dead Sherlock." Her alto voice was soothing and very calm. She let go of her brother's shoulders and ran her hands idly through his hair, trying to calm him as he held onto John's unconscious body tightly, as if he might disappear at any moment.

"You love him an awful lot don't you…?" Shirley wondered as she twirled her brother's hair in her fingers.

"I'm a sociopath, I don't love." Came Sherlock's crisp reply.

"You love me…" Shirley observed.

"I care for you." Sherlock replied, unable to say that he loved her, he didn't know what that word meant in spite of his intellect.

"Then you're not a sociopath…" Shirley stated. "Being a sociopath would imply—"

"I don't need to hear this argument again." Sherlock hushed her.

"Fine, but one day you'll see my point."

"He needs to wake up." Sherlock frowned, looking down at the doctor.

"Give him time." Shirley reminded him. "I'll go make some tea… He'll be up soon enough."

"Mind your head."

"I've always been resilient to these kinds of things. I'm fine." Shirley muttered as she glided into the kitchen. Sherlock looked back down at John for a long moment, thinking deeply. He didn't know how long he stared until he noticed a pair of bright blue eyes staring back at him.

"Sherlock? Are you real?"

"Of course I am, idiot." Sherlock said lightly. John sat up slowly.

"How does your head feel? Sherlock's reaction time was a bit slow, you hit your head on the armrest."

"I feel fine." John said, shaking his head as if he were clearing it. He looked between Sherlock and Shirley slowly. "How are you alive? I watched you fall. I watched you jump. I could feel no pulse in your wrist… I—" John rubbed his temples as if his head ached from trying to solve the riddle.

"You only saw me jump, you never saw me hit the ground."

"Besides, if you would have seen anyone hit the ground, you would have seen me do it." Shirley added lightly. "Would you like some tea?" She asked kindly, holding out a tray.

"Yes thank you." John nodded. He reached out to grab a cup, but Shirley smiled and grabbed his hand when it reached the cup.

"He's not shaking anymore…lovely to see you back to yourself again." Shirley nodded and he took the glass when she let go of him. Strangely, he had noticed her own hand shaking when she grabbed him.

"How did you do it?" John asked, staring at Sherlock.

"Moriarty told me over and over again that he 'owed me a fall'. That told me that Mycroft had somehow been involved with how much Moriarty knew about me."

"How did you make that leap?" John wondered. Sherlock normally would have been put-out with his question, but he smiled at his friend and answered it politely, knowing that he owed his friend that.

"Only Mycroft would know about the connection between Shirley, myself, and falling." Sherlock replied easily. "I knew then that Moriarty was trying to unravel me, trying to find a way to break me… However, he realized—after speaking to Mycroft—that I had no weaknesses, at least not from the past."

"Wouldn't he think of Shirley? Obviously you care about her…" John commented.

"I've been dead since I was thirteen according to all records." Shirley stated with a slight nod. "The only person in the world who knows I am alive is Sherlock…and you now. Feel privileged, several people would kill to know that I am alive."

"They'd kill you if they knew you were alive." Sherlock scoffed.

"Too true." Shirley agreed with a shrug, sitting across from the two of them.

"I realized that Moriarty was trying to ruin one of the things I care for most in the world… The chase. He wanted to ruin my reputation, to make it impossible for me to ever do what I enjoy again, so I knew he would get into people's minds and try to turn them against me…it was just a matter of time. Then of course, he always threatened that he was going to burn me, and then kill me, so I assumed he would wish me to commit suicide to complete his perfect little scheme."

"So you planned on dying." John said.

"Yes, Moriarty didn't expect that out of me, he didn't think that I had caught up." Sherlock said. "I only had to send two texts to complete everything. One to Shirley and one to Moriarty."

"Why would you kill yourself, if Moriarty was already dead? Why do that?"

"Because, if I didn't turn up dead the moment I did, three snipers would have killed Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and you… I didn't really have much of a choice in the matter." Sherlock stated, placing his hands under his chin, as if in prayer.

"Me? What?" John asked.

"It's true, Sherlock had to go through with the plan or things would have gotten messy." Shirley sighed.

"So did you do it?"

"I asked Molly to gather some things, blood and a bit of medicine that would slow a heartbeat so that you couldn't tell whether she was alive or dead. Mycroft sent transportation and a distraction… I jumped off the roof and into the bed of a truck, while Shirley (dressed in my closed and disguised perfectly) was rolled out of a first story window. A fragile bag of blood burst, soaking her head, which she had already cut, and it all looked extremely natural. The biker hit you, to make sure the medicine had enough time to slow Shirley's heartbeat and you walked forward to see my sister, who was rolled away by Molly and woken up."

"How do you come up with these things?" John asked after a moment in shock.

"Oh, it's not all that hard. I'm surprised Moriarty didn't realize where I would take his little game to." Sherlock shrugged.

"Why were you gone for two years?" John asked, still slightly angry at the man in front of him.

"I was hunting down all of Moriarty's associates… Only two remain and they both happen to be in London. I very well couldn't have told you that I was alive because Moriarty still had people out there, waiting to hurt the three of you if I had somehow defeated death." Sherlock said.

"He asked me to stay here in London to watch out for you. I was here to make sure that none of Moriarty's men got to you or Mrs. Hudson." Shirley explained slowly. "I stopped you from killing yourself several times."

"That was Mycroft, every time." John said, not even trying to fight her on the fact. He knew he had tried to kill himself, several times.

"Was it now? I don't think you are correct about that." The doctor blinked in shock. He would have sworn that Mycroft had stepped into the room, carrying his umbrella, but he had seen Shirley's lips move. She had sounded just like Mycroft, somehow making her Alto voice a tenor. She winked at John teasingly. "Close your mouth, you might catch flies that way."

"Quit talking like him, I hate the sound of his sniveling voice, it doesn't suit you." Sherlock stated.

"Quit it! You need to stop fighting him. He did all he could—"

"No, _I _did all I could, not the other way around."

"Has it ever occurred to you that he is trying to make up for his mistake—"

"Don't try to make him seem like a saint, we both know he isn't." Sherlock snapped.

"Neither are you." Shirley said seriously before standing up and walking out of the room. John looked at Sherlock.

"Where did you get that bruise?"

"You were angry with me it seems." Sherlock stated, rubbing the purple blotch gently.

"Sorry…"

"No you're not." Sherlock smiled at him and they both laughed loudly.

"I can't believe you're actually here." John whispered.

"I can."

"That's because you're you." John rolled his eyes.

"Very observant." Shirley called from the kitchen. She returned a moment later, looking as though she had washed her face with cold water.

"Stressed?"

"Don't even ask me questions when you know the answer." Shirley sighed.

"Feeling responsible?"

"YES! I always do." Shirley bit her lip. "Always."

"You're not. All started with the bloody creation of alcohol if you ask me." Sherlock said as Shirley sat down. He watched her as she sat down.

"I didn't ask you."

"Post-traumatic stress disorder… Why does everyone I know have it?" Sherlock questioned absently. A slight hint at a frown pulled at the corner of his full lips.

"Speaking of people you know… Why haven't I been told about Shirley?" John asked.

"Because I didn't have permission to tell you."

"May I ask about her now?" John wondered. Sherlock looked at Shirley who sighed heavily and nodded.

"I'm guessing that was a yes." Sherlock nodded, leaning back on the couch, trying to hide his own tension about the subject that was about to be talked about in 221B.

* * *

Reviews are as sweet as the fruit pizzas I made yeasterday.


	4. Shirley Avery Holmes

Well, time to explain Miss Holmes now...poor dear.

* * *

Shirley Avery Holmes

"Shirley is my twin sister, even though we're not identical we are remarkably similar. There are very few things different about us." Sherlock stated in a cold, almost clinical voice.

"Yes, in fact if I chopped my hair and wore a coat no one would see the difference." Shirley stated. "The reason why you never heard of me before was because I was kidnapped when I was young."

"Shirley was always the favorite. Mother and Father were always proud of Mycroft for going so far so quickly, they were disappointed in me with my lack of interest in anything they pushed at me, but Shirley was their pride and joy. She was the perfect balance for them. Mycroft had his huge intellect and slight softness, I was nothing but a 'brain in transport', but Shirley…she was a genius who could actually relate to people. Unlike all of the other Holmes' she could feel and understand emotions. Perfect Shirley." Sherlock sighed. "Not that she ever flaunted it. She never knew about the preference, but Mother and Father always compared me to her, oddly enough I still cared for her, even if she was all I ever heard about."

"I do apologize for that." Shirley commented.

"I don't mind. I'm not jealous of you."

"I know that." Shirley smiled sadly. "Sherlock was forced to play the violin, he only liked it because it helped him think. He was due to play at a recital in a theater, but after quite a row Mycroft broke Sherlock's violin and Sherlock refused to play. Father forced me to play in the recital instead, stating that I would 'do better anyway'. I didn't realize until that moment how often they compared Mycroft and Sherlock to me." She frowned at Sherlock, but he shrugged.

"We were ten…" Sherlock stated. "We left the theater, sneaking out of the fire escape so we didn't have to deal with the idiots… We ran into a man that we instantly knew was a murderer. He had a gun concealed on him and several knives, not to mention his stance." Sherlock commented.

"However, I saw things that Sherlock didn't notice right away… He was staring at me… He was…aroused." Shirley said in a strained voice. "A rapist. I noted it a second before Sherlock caught on. I knew that the man only wanted me, so I began bargaining, trying to get Sherlock as far away from harm as possible."

"I wouldn't have it."

"He knocked Sherlock out… I left him my scarf and my violin…and next thing I remember I woke up…" Shirley's hands were shaking, she grabbed her wrists and rubbed them gently, as if trying to reassure herself that there was nothing tied to her wrists. "I woke up tied to a bed…completely disrobed…" Shirley reached out for her glass of tea and took a sip from her shaking hand. Sherlock stood up and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. John had never seen Sherlock look so concerned for anyone before—except for the time Sherlock had entered the pool and seen John strapped with explosives. "I wasn't the only one they kidnapped. I was sold to a man who owned many other…girls, but unlike them I knew how to play the game. Be good and you live, be the favorite and you live, submit and you live…"

"When I was thirteen the police gave up looking for Shirley, presuming her dead. Father went…off the deep end. He grew fond of the drink, and blamed me for Shirley's disappearance. He would hit me and yell at me constantly…" John's face became full of anger. "He killed himself before I finished school though. Mother was ever so distant all of the time… Mycroft left the house… He didn't even try to help me. He blamed me as well so he never bothered to notice the bruises and scars."

"That's why you hate Mycroft…" John said in realization. "He didn't protect you. And he hates himself for it…"

"He overlooked everything. Not that I cared about the pain… I deserved it for not finding my sister."

"Don't talk like that." Shirley hissed. "It wasn't your fault." Sherlock scoffed, but relaxed at her request. "I was the favorite…so I lived…though not very well." She frowned. "Honestly, if I have an episode around you, just realize it isn't you. My mind just can't take certain things. I spent twelve years tied up, so ropes, restraints of any type make me quite uneasy, so refrain from touching my wrists. I don't do well being alone with people, but I can tell usually when people mean no harm. I'm fine as long as I don't dwell on what happened. Just know I hold nothing against you… I'm sure you get it… The trauma…"

"God, yes…" John agreed.

"I met Lestrade when I was nineteen… He found me in a drug house…cocaine was my way of making my past disappear… He took me downtown and upon looking at him I told him all about his marital problems and what cases he had been working on in the previous three weeks. He took me under his wing after that… Always coming to me to ask questions when he needed help… He kept me fed and alive so long as I quit using drugs, otherwise I lived on the street, refusing anyone else's help. I helped Mrs. Hudson when I was twenty and she took me in, letting me live here. Two years later I was on a train, on my way to solve a crime when I saw someone sitting across from me. I deduced several things about her instantly.

_'Red wig, fake…too bright to match her eyebrows. Contacts in her eyes evident by how irritated her eyes look. Shaking, her life has been traumatic. The scars on her wrists, constantly bound to something with ropes. Eyes are sharp and keen, intelligent. Make-up covering bruises. Man next to her extremely possessive…' _Sherlock recalled his deductions perfectly aloud to John. "Then I realized that while I was deducting things about her, she was doing the same to me. Her eyes were wide when she looked at me."

"I knew him the instant I saw him…" Shirley stated. "_Grey eyes, black hair, tall, extremely slender.' _The blue scarf around his neck gave him away to me. I _accidently_ knocked over a glass of water."

"I didn't know how she was until she said—"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make that _fall._" Shirley said with half of a smile. Sherlock squeezed her shoulders and stepped away from her, her shudders mostly subsided.

"What is the significance of falling?" The doctor wondered.

"We were camping when we were five." Shirley stated. Mycroft, Sherlock, and I went hiking. We found a cliff that naturally we wanted to climb. Sherlock reached the top first, followed instantly by Mycroft. I was only a few seconds behind them when a rock I grabbed gave out and I started to fall." Shirley frowned. "I would have most likely died if I would have fallen."

"But you didn't…"

"No… I still have no idea how he did it—not enough data, perhaps an adrenaline rush… Sherlock was fifteen yards away, but made it to me before Mycroft had even moved. Sherlock reached out for me and grabbed my arm before I could even let lose a scream." Shirley shot a smile at Sherlock as her hands began to relax. "He promised me that he would never allow me to fall. I agreed the same for him… It became our code word. Whenever we needed help, whenever we were in trouble we would use the word _fall. _Otherwise we would avoid using the word at all. The word became handy to me in school when I was teased, Sherlock beat up a great many school boys for me…not to mention the number Mycroft set in their places."

"So the machine does have a heart." John commented.

"Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock stated just as Shirley said: "Of course he does, he just doesn't know it."

"So you met on the train…"

"I just happened to trip Shirley as she went to get up…" Sherlock stated. "I bent down to help her up and the man fought with me. I managed to break quite a few bones…more than he knew he had, anyway. I didn't mean to kill him… I only wanted him to feel the pain I saw so clearly on my sister's face…and he did. Unfortunately he never woke from his coma, so I never had the chance to send him to hell personally."

"He died though… He's gone."

"One of many I still hunt…" Sherlock commented. He looked at his sister whose face was extremely pale, her hands were shaking. "Are you alright?"

"I'll be okay."

"Don't give me that."

"I just did." Shirley said stubbornly.

"You're hands are shaking, your pulse elevated, eyes—"

"Enough, Sherlock, she doesn't need to say anything. You don't always have to win." John ordered and the detective shut his mouth instantly. He turned to Shirley slowly. "You've been watching me?"

"Yes…" She nodded. "I've followed you everywhere. I've slept outside your room…making sure you slept soundly. My only job in the world was to see to your safety. I take my jobs seriously."

"You didn't er…"

"I didn't do anything inappropriate, I wouldn't even think of it." Shirley promised him with a shadow of a smile gracing her lips.

"I see…" John nodded.

"Nice to meet you in person by the way. I've heard nothing but good things about you."

"I doubt Sherlock spoke of me." John snorted, Sherlock winced slightly.

"He didn't have to… I'm his twin… I know all of the things he never says… Poor sod…he has to deal with me knowing simply everything all of the time." Shirley chuckled. She lifted the violin tentatively and handed it to her brother. "You promised me a song…"

"Ah, indeed I did… Danny Boy? Your favorite, correct?" Sherlock smirked.

"And he knows my every thought as well…" Shirley sighed as Sherlock began to play the sweet melody, balance finally being restored to 221B with Sherlock back in his proper place, playing the violin as he did when he thought. "Lovely piece of music…and well performed as always. However, it is very late. I know for a fact John hasn't slept well in two years and I can tell Sherlock hasn't. You both need to go on off to bed."

"No one bo—"

"Bosses you around? I do, Sherlock and don't forget it." Shirley grinned.

"You need a place to sleep." Sherlock observed.

"I'll sleep on the couch, honestly I'm fine."

"No, take my bed." Sherlock offered.

"You haven't slept well in nearly two years, you should take the bed. If you sleep on the sofa, you'll be grumpy."

"You—"

"I don't like beds… I really don't. Let me sleep in here." Shirley stated. Sherlock stared at her for a long moment before nodding in assent. Sherlock slowly walked towards his room, leaving John alone with Shirley.

"If you need to talk…" John offered. "I realize Sherlock can't be the best person to talk to…"

"Funny, I was going to offer you the same courtesy. Whenever you need anything…" Shirley nodded. Sherlock returned with a blanket and a pillow for his sister before leaving the room again.

"Do you to always act like that around each other? I swear it's somewhere between love, hatred, and annoyance."

"Yes…we do have a strange relationship, but nothing else would ever do…" Shirley grinned. "Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Shirley… Thanks for making him tell me."

"You needed him and whether he likes it or not, he needed you."

* * *

Well, I think most of the background work has been taken care of...plot time. :)

Any reviews at all? Just wonderin'.


	5. A Case

Just had a lovely vacation in the nation's capitol; Washington DC. The history there is enormous. I enjoyed all of the new information, though... I think I've already deleted some of it... Sherlock would be proud. :)

I don't own sherlock, if I did the Hobbit would be delayed and Sherlock would be a top priority.

* * *

A Case

"I'm bored." Sherlock sighed, laying against the sofa lazily, wearing his favorite blue robe. It had been months since his return, Moriarty only had one man left alive, and Lestrade (who had welcomed Sherlock back with open and apologetic arms) had run out of cases for him to solve.

"Then do something productive, like dishes." The doctor said as he stared down at his computer.

"That's Sher's job."

"The hell it is." Shirley retorted. "I'm not Mrs. Hudson."

"Not your housekeeper!" Mrs. Hudson shouted from below.

"Yes you are…" Shirley murmured under her breath. Her hair was cut to her chin and a shade of red. It fell flat around her face like a waterfall. Somehow, just the change in her hair made her look quite different from her brother. She looked up from the notebook she was writing in and sighed. "Do you need me to go kill someone for you?"

"Yes… With your brilliance you might actually lead me on a decent chase." Sherlock complained, folding his hands under his chin.

"Serial killings..."

"Please?" Sherlock begged.

"I'm sitting right here you know…" John commented.

"Maybe I'll kill Anderson."

"I want that right." Sherlock stated.

"I can hear both of you plotting." John continued.

"If you give me a week I'll blend in, disappear, kill everyone I want, and you won't find me."

"It will be a good chase, but I will find you." Sherlock promised.

"Are you really considering killing people because he's bored?" The doctor questioned.

"Ha! He only wishes that I was being serious." Shirley giggled.

"I might murder someone soon. My mind is going to waste." Sherlock complained.

"Be careful what you wish for…you might just get it." Shirley said in a tone full of foreshadowing.

"And don't murder people, I really don't want to have to deal with Sally's jeering's when she realizes she was right about your boredom." John added with a touch of humor.

"Not to mention, it's not right." Lestrade mentioned standing in the doorway. Shirley jumped and nearly knocked over the table next to her chair in her fright. "Sorry… I would have knocked, but I figured that Sherlock wouldn't care." Lestrade looked curiously at Shirley. "Who are you?"

"Shirley Adams." Sherlock commented in an all-knowing voice. "John's current girlfriend, perhaps the least irritating of the bunch, yet. He finally chose someone with intelligence." Sherlock said nonchalantly. Lestrade looked at Shirley for a long moment before holding his hand out.

"Nice to meet you…" Shirley shook his hand and smiled warmly at him.

"And you as well, Ma'am. Nice handshake…" Lestrade complimented.

"Thank you." She smiled.

"What do you have for me?" Sherlock asked.

"Dead body found on a bridge over the Thames." Sherlock looked at Lestrade strangely.

"Why would you be asking me for my help? There's something more, you're hiding it. I can see your eyebrow twitch." Sherlock stated.

"There was a message left for you." Lestrade commented. "Whoever killed this man wanted you to see the body."

"What was the message?"

"_Get Sherlock Holmes ~Drei Sturzan PS I'll give you a choice…" _Lestrade stated. "Three falls… What does that mean?"

"Oh god…" Shirley said quietly in realization at what the words meant. Lestrade looked at her questioningly. "Am I getting in the way of the case? I could leave you know." She said, covering for her outburst.

"No… You specialize in something I may need, you're coming with John and I." Sherlock said, throwing on his coat quickly.

"But what does it mean?" Lestrade asked.

"I'm not sure…three ideas." Sherlock commented as they all took off out of the room.

The four of them arrived at the crime scene and instantly Shirley jumped out of the car, her eyes wide. "Did anyone touch anything?" Shirley snapped, her nostrils flaring as she sniffed the air.

"No, I told them to wait for Sherlock…" Lestrade said, looking at the girl curiously.

"Don't touch anything!" Shirley shouted to everyone before slowly walking towards the dead body. John and Sherlock flanked her.

"What is it? What can you sense that I can't?" Sherlock asked. Shirley shook her head and looked at the paper next to the dead man.

"Written in blood?" John asked. Sherlock bent down to look at the paper, but Shirley grabbed him harshly.

"Don't touch anything… The air we're breathing is already poisoned enough, direct exposure could do a lot worse to you." Shirley stated, she pulled out a pair of leather gloves and lowered herself to the ground, sniffing above the paper.

"What is it?"

"The writing is in a toxic substance that can create exceptionally powerful hallucinations and extreme pain if you receive too much of it… The red color makes it look like blood, but it isn't. Diluted in the air it can't do too much, especially on this windy day, but prolonged exposure would mess with our minds. If it touches the skin it will get into your system almost instantly."

"How do you know this?" John asked as Shirley lifted the paper and placed it in a plastic bag and sealed it.

"I was poisoned with it… It was part of my punishment…when I was bad." Shirley said sadly. "Of twelve years of torture, that was the worst part." Shirley looked to the other people. "Back off a good distance…you all need fresh air. It's best if you get off the bridge completely. We'll stay here, we've been exposed to less of it. I'll make sure the others get off before it takes effect." DI Lestrade led all of his people away from the crime scene and Shirley looked back at Sherlock. "Three falls?"

"Three…"

"Well…I would be one of them." Shirley said calmly. "Whoever did this placed this poison here, knowing only I could ID it…"

"Everyone who knows about you is dead…"

"Unless Moriarty knew that you would evade death…knew I would fall for you." Shirley commented.

"Wait, Moriarty's alive?" John asked.

"It would appear so. Do try to keep up." Sherlock said quietly.

"Help me out here?" John requested, Sherlock sighed heavily.

"Three falls, written in German. He has used German before with Richard Brook. Fall is an allusion to my past, only you, Shirley, Moriarty, and Mycroft know about that part of my past. Shirley and you have been with me, I didn't do this and Mycroft wouldn't get his hands dirty. That leaves only Moriarty left on the list. Simple deduction really. Moriarty wants to play a game with me. He wants me to choose between three people, who takes the fall… That is why it says three falls and implies that I get a choice in the matter. Shirley is one of them because, as she stated, only she would know the smell of that poison. The only true question left is how he's alive, I saw him kill himself." Sherlock stated quickly, barely allowing John to keep up with his rapid speech. "What can you tell me about the body?"

"I'm going to go for a walk… I don't want to be around this smell…"

"Yes, yes fine…" Sherlock replied dryly to his sister who walked away quickly, her hands quivering. John looked at the body as Sherlock searched the pockets. "A ballot?" Sherlock questioned.

"Mycroft."

"What?" Sherlock asked John.

"The second of the three… Mycroft, the man running the government." John stated, looking at the bruises around the man's neck.

"Ah, makes sense." Sherlock agreed, continuing his search for evidence. John caught sight of blood on the dead man's black shirt and lifted it to look at his deeply cut chest.

JOHNNY BOY

"The third one's me." John said in a slow voice. Sherlock instantly looked at the gashes and his eyes widened.

"I won't let him get to you."

"Sherlock—" John said seeing a strange blue light blinking underneath the man's skin and noticing his watch counting backwards.

"You don't have to worry about anything. His game will be over soon…"

"Sherlock—!" John tried again.

"I promise." John looked down at the man's blinking watch. 10…9…

"SHERLOCK!" John shouted grabbing ahold of the detective's coat. 8…7…6… He pulled Sherlock quickly to the railing of the bridge. 5…4…3… John jumped over the bridge pulling Sherlock with him. 2…1… Just as the pair of them hit the water below a large explosion filled the air, bringing the bridge down. John kept ahold of the detective, keeping him below the water, away from the flying debris. John came back up above the water, and took a deep breath, but then he realized that Sherlock wasn't doing the same. In fact, if the doctor hadn't have had a hand on the detective, his body would have been floating lifelessly.

"JOHN! SHERLOCK!" Shirley's scream filled the air. John pulled the detective as quickly as he could to the bank of the Thames. Instantly he began CPR trying to make the pale detective breath again.

"Don't do this to me… Please, Sherlock." John begged, breathing air into Sherlock's lungs. "Damn you, come on! Breathe." Sherlock coughed up the water in his lungs and took in a slow deep breath, but otherwise remained unconscious. "Thank God…" John whispered checking his friends pulse that beat gently against his fingers.

"John, is everything alright?" Shirley asked in a panicked voice.

"Get an ambulance… Sherlock's hit his head and drowned. He's alive, but he needs to be looked after."

"Alright," Shirley nodded and took off towards DI Lestrade and the others.

"You're going to be alright, Sherlock." John promised, standing up. He lifted his friend off of the ground and carried him over his shoulder up towards the road. In spite of how slender the detective was he was heavier than he looked, but John refused to drop him as he walked up the steep embankment. He got to a police car and gently laid Sherlock down on it. He ran his hand through his friends hair to find that he was correct about the head wound, the detective was bleeding from a shallow cut that John knew would turn into a nasty bump. John only hoped that that would be the only thing that happened to the detective…not wanting anymore harm to befall him.

"Is he going to be alright?" Shirley asked as John pressed a piece of cloth to Sherlock's bleeding head.

"He's going to be fine…"

"What happened?" She inquired.

"A bomb was implanted under the man's skin… His watch was counting down the seconds until it went off… I realized it with only ten seconds left… I had to get him out of there." John said in a quick stressed voice. Shirley put her hand gently on his arm and looked directly into John's eyes.

"Thank you for saving him." Shirley kissed his cheek gently, a sisterly peck on the cheek. "He's going to be alright, I promise." John looked at her questioningly. "I'm his twin… I feel what he feels… He's just sleeping…rather deeply. He'll wake up, give him time. Speaking of…the ambulance just arrived to take him to the hospital."

"I'll get him…" John said, moving to pick up Sherlock.

"Are you sure?"

"He'd carry me…" John said quietly before lifting Sherlock and taking him to the ambulance. Shirley smiled smugly, watching the doctor carry her brother.

"Yes he would John…he would carry you for days…" Shirley grinned. "Lestrade, John's gone with Sherlock in the ambulance… May I have a ride with you to the hospital?"

"Of course." Lestrade nodded easily.

"Thank you…"

* * *

Is sherlock alright? I don't know just yet... Give me some clues.


	6. Unconscious

Don't know why I keep going... I guess I'm just addicted to writing is all. This chapter a day thing isn't keeping the doctor away... I don't think the saying holds true.

I don't own Sherlock or Watson... I do own Shirley though...and I don't think she will appreciate it.

* * *

Unconscious

"Sherlock Holmes?" Instantly John Watson was on his feet. Shirley followed closely behind John. The nurse looked questioningly at John. "Are you family?" She wondered.

"I'm his cousin, Annabelle Hills and this is his fiancé Dr. John Watson." Shirley lied easily. John refrained from sending an angry look at Shirley. People already talked enough about John and Sherlock, he didn't need _that _on top of it. The nurse nodded and led them both back.

"He's resting now… He needs blood, his head injury bled quite a bit." Shirley mentally cursed herself she had made herself a 'married in' relative. "Do you know anyone who can—?"

"My blood matches his… We learned that a while ago, in case something ever happened. We don't really live safe lives. You can take whatever he needs…" John told the nurse, rolling up his sleeve. "From me…" John finished simply. The nurse smiled.

"You can go sit with him Annabelle… He's unconscious, but in mostly stable condition aside from the blood he needs." Annabelle smiled and walked over to the room the woman had pointed to. She stood next to her brother for a minute.

"He loves you, you know? Remember that…" Shirley said. "You being so inert is making me tired… I'm going to get some sleep alright? John will be here in a while to keep you company…" Shirley sat down but then she realized something. "Uh-oh… Mycroft will probably be here any moment…to look after you, now that I think about it… I should probably leave. The poor man doesn't need a heart attack." Shirley sighed before kissing her brother's forehead. "I'll be back when he's gone."

888

John sat next to Sherlock's bedside. His skin was uncharacteristically pale, but Sherlock looked better with color in his cheeks. John was extremely upset to not see Shirley anywhere near her unconscious brother, whose head was quite banged up. John looked at the nurse who was glancing at the monitors in the room. "Have you seen the woman who was with me?" John inquired.

"She—"

"What woman?" Mycroft's voice asked. Instantly the answer struck John. The girl was hiding from her elder brother, no doubt at Sherlock's request (demand).

"Annabelle…" John stated, recalling her alias. The nurse walked out of the room leaving the pair of them alone. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at John.

"I heard you claimed to be his fiancé." Mycroft smirked.

"They wouldn't have let me come back here otherwise." John commented, glancing at Sherlock.

"You gave quite a lot of blood as well… More than he needed I hear…" Mycroft continued. John looked at Mycroft with a black expression on his face.

"And? He would have died without it."

"He has a brother who—"

"Wasn't here to donate… He didn't have the time to wait for you." John said staring at Mycroft, who shifted uncomfortably.

"I suppose not…" Mycroft said, his eyes curious. "Is he going to be alright?" He asked walking towards the bed to look down at the detective. John couldn't believe that Mycroft had once blamed Sherlock for Shirley's 'death', he always seemed so concerned about Sherlock now.

"He hit his head against a rock on the bottom of the Thames… He might not wake up for a while…"

"A while…?"

"They think he might be comatose." John murmured, looking at his best friend sadly.

"He is a Holmes… He'll wake up. He's been through worse." Mycroft stated, placing his hand gently against his brother's. John's eyes caught sight of Shirley who stared into the room, looking at Mycroft with a look of pure agony in her eyes, as if all she ever wanted in the world was to reach out and embrace him. She noticed John's eyes on her and instantly disappeared from sight.

"I'm sure he'll be fine…" John agreed.

"Are you going back to the flat?"

"No…"

"I didn't think so." Mycroft nodded. "I'll have my best men here to protect both of you. Send word my way when he wakes?"

"Yes…" John nodded. Mycroft twirled his umbrella easily before walking out of the room. Ten seconds later Shirley was back in the room again, sitting next to John. "Why can't you see him?"

"He's the British government John… If he sees me the rest of the government will know I'm alive. I can't even begin to count how many people might be looking for me… I don't want to worry about it all… Besides…Mycroft doesn't need me as a distraction."

"A distraction? I'm sure he would love to know that you're alive!" John protested.

"I would shift his thoughts into a wrong direction, he has too much on his plate right now to worry about me."

"You Holmes are all strange." John sighed.

"Yes…we are, but we are logical and that makes it all worth it." Shirley grinned. "Thank you for donating… He would have died without it."

"I knew you couldn't, they would get suspicious of someone with identical blood." John smiled.

"He deserves a good friend like you. I feel like I've never been enough for him. Everything he ever did was compared to me when he was little, imagine how tiring that must have been. I abandoned him to leave him with a broken home and abuse…"

"You allowed yourself to get rolled out of a building for him. You were abused for years. It's hardly your fault that he doesn't have friends… He's difficult."

"I know that, but he would have had a better life if it weren't for me…" Shirley sighed. "I was supposed to die you know? The nurses brought me back when I was born. Sherlock was supposed to be the only one who survived. I think his life would have been easier if that would have happened."

"You can't wish yourself dead…" John whispered.

"You would…if you were me… Sometimes life just isn't for you."

"I don't understand—"

"Why I haven't killed myself yet? Simple…" Shirley said, looking down at Sherlock. "He needs me to teach him a lesson…" She glanced at John, knowing the look on his face. "I'm not a prophet nor a seer by any means… I just know what Sherlock needs and it seems I am one of the only people who can get it through to him. I have to leave… Mycroft's guards may not be as sharp as my brother, but they will tell stories about me if they see me. I'm going back to the flat." Shirley said, running her hand gently across her brother's cheek. "Take care of him?"

"Of course…" John nodded in agreement. "Take care."

"I always do." Shirley stated, leaving John alone with the unconscious detective. John placed his head down on the pillow next to Sherlock's slowly nodding off as the toll of the day washed over him.

888

"He's still in a coma, Mycroft." John said for the millionth time that week. Mycroft made it a point to call John every day (at least once) to ask about Sherlock. The doctor found it quite annoying.

"Well find a way to wake him up."

"Mycroft, he's in a coma because he needs the mental rest. Let him heal at his own pace."

"Sherlock? Need mental rest? I don't believe it." Mycroft scoffed. John looked down at his unconscious friend and gently grabbed the detective's pale hand.

"Believe it or not, he was blown up and that can take a whole hell of a lot out of a person." John snapped into the phone.

"Touchy, perhaps you should get some rest."

"Perhaps you should stop calling." John retorted before hanging up his phone and shutting it off. He let go of the detective only long enough to unplug the phone in the wall next to Sherlock's bed so that Mycroft wouldn't be able to annoy him. He felt bad after a moment, cutting off Mycroft meant that he was also cutting off Shirley, but he knew she would understand.

John sat down next to Sherlock again and stared down at the pale man's angular face. The detective had been in his coma for three weeks and the stillness of the man was setting the good doctor on edge. Reportedly, Sherlock's mind hadn't been hurt, other than the large bump on the head, which had all but disappeared. The doctors could find nothing else wrong with him and assumed that a combination between shock and the fact that he had drowned was what had sent him into the deep sleep he remained in.

Shirley had been extremely calm about the whole ordeal, she called only once in a while, more so to ask John how he was doing, rather than asking about her brother. In fact, John couldn't recall her ever asking about her brother's welfare. He only ever recalled her reassuring him that Sherlock would be fine, and that he should remember to eat and to sleep. Shirley seemed as calm as ever, almost tired to John, when everyone else seemed panicked. Even Lestrade was worried about Sherlock…but Shirley remained quiet, patient.

John sighed and brushed the curly locks out of Sherlock's closed eyes before placing his hand back in Sherlock's, hoping to comfort his friend, even if he couldn't acknowledge it. John smiled sadly at his friend. "Your brother is an annoying sod, just so you know." John commented. "I think you knew that already though, what with your fancy skills of deduction." John chuckled. John felt the fingers in his hand twitch and saw a slight crease form in-between Sherlock's eyes.

"Mm…"

"Sherlock, can you hear me?" John asked hopefully.

"John…" Sherlock's head rolled back and forth as he lay somewhere between sleeping and waking. His breathing was elevated, panicked. His eyes shifted restlessly under his eyelids.

"Sherlock?" John asked, squeezing his hand tighter within his own. "Can you open your eyes? Can you hear me?" Pale grey-blue eyes opened quickly and before John could register anything else the detective's hands were clutching at John's shoulders tightly.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked in a panicked voice.

"I'm fine… You're the one in the hospital, Sherlock." John said, glad that for once he wasn't at the receiving end of the 'you're an idiot' voice. Sherlock looked around slowly, his grip on the doctor's shoulders loosening. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine…" Sherlock said quickly. "Is everyone alright?"

"Yes… If Moriarty wanted to make a move he hasn't yet."

"Now that I think of it, Moriarty would want me to be there when he does things… Genius needs an audience… How long have I been unconscious…? No, don't answer that… I've been unconscious for three weeks…at least." Sherlock stated, his hands slowly lowering to his sides.

"How did you—"

"The length of my hair, the bruises under your eyes, the clothes that haven't been washed in a few days, and the date on the newspaper over on the table tell me three weeks. The newspaper hasn't been touched so it can't be old… So three weeks, give or take a day." Sherlock replied.

"And the doctors thoughts your mind might be fuzzy when you woke up." John shook his head.

"It is… It shouldn't have taken me that long to see those things…" Sherlock shook his head. "I don't like feeling slow, it's so dull. Where's Shirley?"

"At the flat…" John answered. "Mycroft was here."

"Ah…she left to keep herself from making Mycroft's life difficult…" Sherlock said after a moment. "Have you talked to her lately—no, dull… You've ripped the cords out of the wall… Mycroft's been bothering you, so brother dearest doesn't visit me himself, just sends his minions to watch me… I see how it is. You haven't talked to Shirley lately because of your irritation with Mycroft… Got it."

"Brilliant." John commented.

"Thanks…for…what you did…" Sherlock said awkwardly after a moment in silence. The two of them stared at each other.

"I wasn't going to let you ramble on…you wouldn't have noticed the bomb in time." John stated. "I had to do something…even if it meant throwing you in the Thames." John said in a slightly teasing tone. Sherlock grasped John's forearm for a moment before letting go, the grand extent of gratitude Sherlock Holmes was capable of. Sherlock jumped slightly at the sound of a mobile going off. John got up slowly and grabbed Sherlock's phone, handing it to him easily.

**Glad to see you awake again, Sherlock Holmes… Johnny Boy hasn't left your side this whole time, such a loyal little pet… Get ready for the next part of our game, Sherlock. It's to die for. Xx—M**

Sherlock glared at the message… He hated the way Moriarty spoke about John, as an object rather than a person. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Sherlock stated before a new message came in.

**Your poor sister has been at the flat all alone… Did you know she sleeps on the sofa? She seems rather cold… Should I have given her a blanket? I suppose it's the rape that made her want to stay away from a proper bed… Maybe if I hold her she might sleep more soundly… Xx—M**

"No…" Sherlock hissed, looking at all of the new pictures that were being sent to his phone. Pictures of his sister curled up on the sofa, alone in the night, pictures of her changing for the days activities, pictures of her cleaning the house and watching the Telly, pictures of her playing the violin and singing, pictures of her reading, and pictures of her eating all about the flat.

**PS She likes two sugars with her tea…and she despises coffee. I think we might get along… Can you introduce us? Xx—M**

"John…you need to get me out of this hospital." Sherlock stated. "Now!"

* * *

So the game is starting... :)


	7. The Game is On

Forgive this super short chapter... I am going to bust my butt to get this story finished before friday... Or else i won't update til the end of summer... Sorry...

I don't own anything.

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The Game is On

Sherlock got out of the cab quickly, a bit too quickly making his head spin slightly. He walked to the door of 221B with John at his side. Sherlock grabbed the note placed on the door and read it slowly.

Tut-tut, Mr. Holmes… Anyone could walk in and steal something precious. Xx—M

Sherlock placed the note in his pocket quickly and dashed into the flat, John only a step behind him. Sherlock forced open the door and called out. "Shirley?" Sherlock yelled. "SHER?"

"Quit your yelling… What are you going on about now? You just get out of the hospital and you yell at me, Locky? What did I do this time?" She appeared out of the bathroom, running her fingers through her recently washed hair.

"The game is on…" Sherlock stated, throwing his phone at Shirley. She caught it and began searching through the pictures. Her eyes widened. "Did you see anyone in here?"

"No…never…"

"But somebody has been here… They would have to have been here to take those pictures from those angles." Sherlock observed.

"Yes they would… How didn't I notice?" Shirley asked in a frightened voice. She looked down at all of the pictures as Sherlock began checking the letter for fingerprints other than his own. "Oh God… They have pictures of me getting dressed—" John wrapped an arm loosely around Shirley, hoping to comfort her.

"Do shut up and go to your room, Shirley, complaining isn't helping anything." Sherlock snapped.

"Alright… I need silence." Shirley agreed, sitting down on an armchair and staring off into space. After a long moment of silence, her face calmed and relaxed, panic had been erased from her. John stared at her in question. She had gone from crazed to exceedingly calm in mere moments.

"That can't be right." Sherlock hissed after nearly twenty minutes. Shirley jumped and came back to life, but her panic didn't return. "Come here John." Sherlock ordered. John walked to the detectives side and his hand was instantly stolen from him. Sherlock's grey eyes stared at John's fingers through his magnifying glass. He glanced back at the fingerprints he had found and back at John's hand. He shoved John's hand away and huffed in exasperation. "John's next… His fingerprints were on the letter… First Moriarty stalks Shirley, then John… Mycroft will be last. He will work his way into everyone's head before actually trying to start the game. He knew the pictures would unhinge Shirley, I can't say what he might try to do to unhinge you, John." Sherlock stepped onto the coffee table before sprawling out on the sofa.

"Did you ever stop to think that your sister might be upset?" John asked in a slightly irked voice.

"She wasn't alright, but she is now. I needn't ask her anything." Sherlock said flippantly before folding his hands under his chin, thinking deeply.

"She's suffering from PTSD, Sherlock, you machine."

"I'm fine… I went to my empty room. I'm alright now." Shirley smiled at John gratefully, letting him know that his concern was appreciated.

"Empty room?"

"In my mind palace… Perhaps I should give you a tour of it." Shirley smiled before drawing out a map on a piece of paper.

"Be silent whilst you are doing so." Sherlock stated and Shirley nodded at him with a slight smile. John looked at Sherlock in question, but didn't say anything. Shirley finished her drawing and brought the paper to John's attention. He looked down at the very accurate floor plans of a two-story house.

The first floor had a large foyer, which obviously held all of Shirley's musical knowledge, as it had a piano and huge stores of classical music in it, not to mention a clarinet, a violin, and actually said music in small little letters in the room. To the right was a living room that said 'culture' in the corner. Next to the living room was a den which housed observation and understanding. The large library must have been home to every book Shirley had ever read on any subject, John assumed. The dining room had the word 'manner's' written in it neatly.

John held back a scoff… He was sure Sherlock didn't have that room in his mind palace.

The kitchen had science written on it. The second floor contained three rooms. A second, rather large living room, that had the word Logic written on it, a bedroom that simply held memories, and a small room only labeled as the 'empty room'. There was a garden outside of the lower level that had the word emotion written in it.

"Empty room?" John inquired. He nearly covered his mouth, but he noticed that Sherlock had come back to life, dragging himself back from his mind palace.

"My special room. I go there when I am distressed… It is completely blank. I can place anything inside of it to keep myself calm, to get rid of my tension. It helps me quite a lot. I have very few panic attacks now, compared to how many I had before I invented the room."

"Does he have a garden?" John asked quietly, too quietly for Sherlock to hear.

"I believe so… He doesn't think he has one, but I know it exists, even if he has tried to kill it with droughts and darkness." Shirley glanced at her brother. "It's been in bloom though lately."

"I don't like it when you hide things from me." Sherlock stated.

"Of course you don't." Shirley shrugged. Sherlock looked at John and Shirley very seriously.

"Be careful, both of you."

"Of course…" Shirley agreed, mimicking Sherlock's voice perfectly.

"No problem." The doctor nodded in agreement.

"What about Mycroft?"

"He's safe… I doubt Moriarty means to kill Mycroft, only to hurt him… I don't know what that entails yet, six ideas…" Sherlock stated before falling back into his thoughts.

888

Two months later

888

"I asked for my phone, Shirley." Sherlock stated, staring up at the ceiling. His sleeve was rolled up and had two patches on it as he lay on the couch.

"She's been asleep for three hours, Sherlock." John commented, looking at the girl who was arched rather uncomfortably on the armchair.

"Oh… May I have my phone then?" John rolled his eyes and retrieved the phone that was only a few inches from Sherlock's reach before he gave it to Sherlock and walked to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and ignored the collection of hands and snakes, trying to locate the milk, which was gone, of course.

"I'm going out to get some milk, won't be long." John called.

"Don't shout…" Shirley murmured, but that was the only reply he received as Sherlock was in his own little world yet again. "Be careful…" Shirley's voice stated before she fell asleep again, awkwardly. John pulled on his coat before he walked out of the flat and onto the streets of London.

The night was warm, but exceedingly dark as John walked down the street towards the store. His mind was distant, thinking of how the chip-n-pin machine would likely give him trouble when he got to the store. He wished things were simple once again, where people actually interacted, but he guessed that only more people would end up dead that way. He took a shortcut through an ally but froze when he heard a set of footsteps behind him. He turned to look over his shoulder and sighed when the alleyway was empty, before he could turn back around a hand clamped over his mouth and he felt a needle jab into his arm harshly. He struggled against his captor, trying to reach for his concealed gun, but there was no point of it as his body relaxed and his mind grew fuzzy.

The doctor fell unconscious in the arms of his captor. The man who had captured him was joined by another who carried the unconscious man to a black car and stretched him across the back seat. The first man searched John's clothing and pulled out his gun and phone. "You go on ahead… Make sure he gets to Moriarty in one piece. I have to leave this where Sherlock will find it."

* * *

Cliffie... My bad... :(


	8. A Jacket

I don't know if I'll get this done within the week, but I am trying my hardest.

Thanks to the two reviews I have... I was going to keep writing anyway, but you guys gave me a bit of extra incentive. :)

* * *

A Jacket

"John, what do you think about—?"

"He isn't here." Shirley stated, waking up at the noise and sitting up. "He left to go get milk, remember?"

"No… I don't. When did he leave?" Sherlock inquired.

"Whenever you sent that text…" Shirley yawned. "I've been asleep. I don't know what time it was." Sherlock looked through his phone and jumped slightly.

"I sent my last text an hour ago." Sherlock stated in a panicked voice.

**John, are you alright? —SH**

Sherlock heard a phone ring an instant later and ran to the flat door. He ran down the stairs only to freeze when he saw the light of a phone sitting on top of John's gun. He reached down and grabbed the phone and gun, finding a paper underneath them.

**Hope you don't mind… John is going to spend some time with us… Don't worry, we'll give him back eventually… Don't try to find him… Xx—M **

"I'm going to the lab! Moriarty has John! Call Mycroft! Use my voice! Ask him where John's been!" And Sherlock tore out of the flat getting into the very first cab he found.

888

John felt a strange fog clouding his mind as he slowly became conscious. He remembered being attacked and forced himself to remain still and keep his breathing level as he woke. He slowly twitched his right wrist only to find that his hands were bound tightly together in front of him. He twisted his ankle subtly, but found that his feet were unbound.

"You can wake up, Johnny Boy." The last voice in the world he wanted to hear rang in his ears. "As you very well know… I've only bound your hands. I can tell you are awake, don't try to trick me, it won't work." Moriarty sang lightly.

"What do you want with me?" John asked, opening his eyes.

"Well, I want you to burn…and since you hold Sherlock's heart in your back pocket burning you kills two bones with one stone." Moriarty smiled cheerfully.

"How did you survive? Sherlock said that you killed yourself." John said, slowly sitting up.

"Plastic surgery… As Sherlock had his moment of privacy I walked away and my duplicate walked onto the roof. I _am _so changeable aren't I? I think life is like playing chess, always play five moves ahead." He smirked. "Much like Sherlock played a few moves ahead. He was quite ingenious, getting Shirley to take the fall… When I ran DNA tests on the remnants of blood it was such a close match that I thought he had truly died. I was even more convinced when I saw how genuine your grieving was…"

"You watched me?" John shouted.

"Yes, and I am glad you didn't kill yourself all of those times…we wouldn't be here having all of this fun if you had." Moriarty said. "Of course, as I watched you I learned something else… I had known about Shirley being Sherlock's twin, because I know who kidnapped her…but he had always claimed that she had died as Mycroft also said. I didn't realize that she was still alive until I caught sight of her last year, gazing into the window at 221… I had thought it was Sherlock for a moment, because of that lovely black coat she wore, but she had too much curve to be him… That's when I realized Sherlock was alive indeed, and that he was responsible for the deaths of my agents… That shouldn't go unpunished now, should it?"

John looked the other way, saying nothing.

"Oh, come now, Doctor… He should be punished… And I know I certainly can't hurt _him. _He doesn't feel pain like a human does, doesn't care to live or die, just as long as he can think. However, he does care about five things in this life… Mrs. Hudson doesn't have much longer anyway, considering her age. Lestrade isn't close enough to Sherlock to have any real impact. Mycroft, though a sore spot in Sherlock's heart, is indeed a part of Sherlock's heart, therefore he is expendable. Shirley is the only thing that kept Sherlock fighting through his adolescence…she created his heart… But you, John… You are the missing link to all of it aren't you? You are his heart. I figure, if I burn you, he will experience more pain than even he can imagine."

"You won't hurt him… He's a sociopath, he doesn't have feelings." John stated.

"We both know that's not true." Moriarty said, leaning closer to John. "When I had him pinned on that roof…when I told him that I had a sniper waiting to kill his friends, the first thing he said was 'John?' He said the word after I had just barely gotten the threat out. Don't tell me that he hasn't got feelings."

"He doesn't care that much about me. I doubt he's even noticed I'm gone yet. He never notices when I leave, ever." John admitted.

"But you notice when he's gone." Jim Moriarty smiled gleefully. "You notice everything about him. You know him better than anyone."

"Of course I do, he refuses to talk to people. I hardly get things out of him myself." John snapped. Moriarty laughed.

"Don't try to fool me, John." Moriarty's eyes glimmered joyously. "I know your secret…"

"What secret?"

"Oh, it's quite obvious, Johnny Boy. You love Sherlock Holmes…it's so easy to see, so clear in everything you do… A mere friend wouldn't try to kill himself several times after the death of a friend…especially one who is so acclimatized to violence and death. No…a lover perhaps would feel as such, they would have to be an exceptionally loyal lover, but a lover indeed."

"You're wrong."

"Oh I know you aren't lovers… Sherlock's too high-strung, he'd be more relaxed otherwise." Moriarty commented with a shrug as he stood up. "It doesn't change the fact that you wish it were so."

"I'm not gay."

"No you're not. You would never show affection for another man in the world…only Sherlock. So no, you aren't gay, which would be why Sherlock has said nothing about his own feelings and has distanced himself from you since the beginning, because believe me, he notices you as well."

"He notices no one…"

"Well, even if you're right… He'll notice the little presents I'm going to be sending him. I hope you don't mind… I'm going to be asking you for some help in making them, I always insisted that presents are homemade."

"Go to hell."

"You first. I'm not afraid to fall, are you?" Moriarty raised an eyebrow. "Obviously not, not even a shiver in you… Calm as can be. I like that in you, I see why you're his favorite, so much fun to play with. Seb?" A military man entered the only door in the room after a few locks clicked and stared at John, a knife in his hand. "Johnny here's agreed to play, isn't that wonderful?" Moriarty asked.

"Yes, it is."

"Cut the jacket off of him, make sure there are some blood stains, then do what you wish…you know your boundaries." Moriarty smiled at John. "See you later Johnny…" Seb grabbed John by his tied hands and yanked him to his feet.

"Don't struggle, you're still weak from the drug, you'll only make me angry." Seb stated when John tried to fight back. John agreed, his whole body felt tired and worn. Seb attached his tied wrists to a hook in the ceiling that was just high enough so that John had to balance nearly all of his weight on the very tips of his toes. John caught sight of the knife in Seb's hands and took a deep breath preparing himself for whatever was to come. He was after all a solider, and he wasn't going to allow the man in front of him to break him.

888

"Well? Has Mycroft seen anything?" Sherlock snapped at Shirley as soon as she walked into the lab.

"He saw John walk into an ally on his way to the grocery, but he never saw John leave it." Shirley stated. "Moriarty must have found a way around security. Have you found anything?"

"No, not even fingerprints." Sherlock hissed. "Let's go to the ally, it may hold evidence…"

Upon arrival to the ally where the doctor had disappeared…Sherlock found no clues whatsoever, none that were left on accident, however there was one thing left on the scene with definite purpose. John's tan jacket lay on the ground, cut down the sleeves as if it had to be removed from John without disturbing anything else, leading Sherlock to think that John's hands were bound, but that didn't disturb him, what truly disturbed him was the amount of blood that was spilt on the jacket that lay alone in the ally.

* * *

R&R... Oh, and the next chapter is going to be quite graphic, i just want to warn you about that... There's a reason why this is rated M...well, actually two reasons...but that's for you to find out next chapter.


	9. Ruining Dr John Watson

**Warning for this chapter! **I know, I'm cruel... I need to tell you that there will be some major abuse mentally and physically in this chapter, not to mention emotional. Abuse, beatings, and rape. So please don't read if you are extremely sensitive about it. I didn't get too bad with the writing, nothing too detailed, so it isn't too bad, but it plays on peoples mental and emotional health, so be warned.

I apologize for what i have done to John... I think BBC owns this for a reason.

Sorry.

* * *

Ruining Dr. John Watson

"Have you knocked him out, Seb?" Moriarty asked with a slight smirk.

"It took me a long while. He's a damn stubborn man." Seb stated. "Took a flogger to his back, took a hot iron to his skin, cut him… I don't know how he managed to stay awake for that long."

"Well, now that he's finally out…" Moriarty turned and opened a small wooden box on his desk. He pulled out a small needle and turned back to Seb. "Let's have some fun with the dear doctor…" Moriarty stood and entered the room where John hung, supported by his bleeding (perhaps broken) wrists. His shirt had been torn off of him, revealing a new coating of purple and black bruises and thousands of angry cuts. A burn mark over the man's heart stood out in vivid scarlet. "Let him down and lay him on the bed." Seb lifted John off of the hook and dropped him onto the bed. "Careful next time… We don't need him waking up." Moriarty said.

"What does that do?"

"Shirley's captors told me about it. It induces hallucinations. Her captors tested it on her quite a lot, whenever she acted silly… You can subliminally control the hallucinations a person has…"

"You're just being naughty now…" Seb smiled as Moriarty placed the needle into the Doctor's arm and pulled out a tape recording.

"Always… It's just so much fun." His eyes brightened. "Untie him and press play on the recording. If he continually hears Sherlock's voice in his subconscious, I'm sure Sherlock will be the first thing he sees."

"You want me to break him mentally?" Seb questioned.

"Yes… When you're through and the toxin is out of his system, send him upstairs…"

"What for?"

"I intend to break Sherlock and John emotionally."

888

John slowly opened his eyes and looked down at the sofa he had fallen asleep on. The smiley face on the wall taunted him. It was far too bright for John's liking, especially since his head throbbed with some strange pain. "Idiot."

"Excuse me?" John asked, turning to look at Sherlock.

"You just had to go and get yourself captured again. Are you a complete waste of breath?" Sherlock asked sharply. John stared at Sherlock, dumbfounded for a moment. He was used to being called an idiot by the genius, but Sherlock had never been so harsh with him before. "Are you?"

"I would suppose not." John answered promptly.

"Of course you wouldn't. Every person in the world tries to make excuses for their own shortcomings, and you _do _have quite a list of them don't you?" Sherlock snarled. "You make me chase you all over the place all of the time. It's as if you are a lost puppy, and it is ever so pathetic. Why can't you just leave and get on with it?"

"Sher—"

"Don't Sherlock me. I don't even know why I bother with you. I should have just left you to the gutter… I guess my experiment on the simple mind wasn't really necessary."

"Experiment?" John's mind ached at the thought. Had Sherlock Lied to him this whole time? Was he really no more than a pet as Moriarty had pointed out? Why would Sherlock string him along for so long? Had Shirley been lying too, was she even real? Was anything real?

"What? Did you actually think I was your friend, John? Do you think I actually cared about you?"

"Sherlock—" John started in a hurt voice.

"Why would I ever care about you?" Sherlock asked sitting directly in front of John. "You're just another worthless face from the crowds of ignorant faces. You could never keep up with me."

"I could try! I could try to get better." John stated.

"No, you really couldn't. You're worthless."

"Please, Sherlock…"

"I will be out of the flat, consider it yours."

"Where are you going?"

"To someone who can actually speak on my level of intelligence, you ignorant little sod." Sherlock snapped. "Jim Moriarty. Oh, shocked? Of course you are. You couldn't see it from the beginning, we've been working together for ages now, it doesn't surprise me that you are completely blind to everything around you."

"But he tried to kill you!"

"He never would, we're worth too much to one-another… He's worth more to me than you could ever mean to me."

"Sherlock don't—" John pleaded.

"Goodbye, John." Sherlock left the room in a rush, his black coat swaying behind him.

"NO! Sherlock!" John shouted angrily. He tried to get up, to go after him, but he was too weak. He looked down at his bare torso and saw all of the many bruises that littered his skin. His mind instantly flashed to an image of Sherlock standing over him, beating John over and over for his incompetence, calling him foul names as he did so. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" John cried out with each new hit, each new pain. He simply took each blow from Sherlock, not daring to hit the man back. Even if Sherlock didn't see John as a friend, he still felt loyal to Sherlock…even as the man terrorized him.

Once John had been beaten back into unconsciousness Seb picked the man up and dragged him out of the room. "You should have heard him screaming… It's about time I got a reaction out of him." Seb smirked as he pulled John's limp body into a bedroom and placed him on the bed.

"I'm sure it was wonderful…" Moriarty's eyes glowed. "Send the ropes that used to bind him to Sherlock… I'm sure Sherlock would love to see some more of his friend's blood. Leave me alone with the doctor. I have some things to do when he wakes up."

888

John stretched slightly and winced at the bruises that Sherlock…no…Sherlock couldn't have given them to him…Could he? John stopped his painful train of thought and assessed the situation he was in. Whatever lay below him was soft, like a bed covered in silk sheets. Silk? The fabric choice confused John for a minute, especially when he realized that his whole torso was bare to the silk's touch. John tried to roll over onto his back, but he found that his hands were handcuffed to the bedframe, as were his feet.

"Figured it all out then, have you?" Moriarty's voice asked quietly.

"What am I doing here?" John asked.

"You're a relatively smart person—for an average person anyway…I'm sure you've figured it out." John's eyes widened but he quickly reigned in his fear, hoping Moriarty would miss it, but he knew Moriarty was too smart to miss such a thing. "You want to know what I hate, Dr. Watson? I hate that Sherlock Holmes has everything he could ever want. He had a perfect family, all the riches in the world, all of the brains he needed, even all of the fame and glory he desired. I was ever so happy to learn that he had lost a sister, that it had driven his father to abuse him and to suicide, that he turned to drugs that could have ruined his mind over his sister… But, then again, he got her back in the end… As far as I can tell, the only thing he has ever truly wanted, that he had never had, is you…"

"You're wrong."

"You're the one who's wrong, dear John." Moriarty smirked standing up and running his hand down John's spine. "He's wanted you for years, but he's so foolish, so afraid… Too afraid to ask you, to tell you." Moriarty cooed, leaning down to press his lips to the scar on John's left shoulder blade. "Perhaps he won't want you anymore if he finds out you're broken…tainted… Does he know you haven't had anyone since a few months after you met him? Well, we can break that trend I think." Moriarty stated, his hands sliding around John's waist to undo his trousers.

_Don't think about it. Think about anything else. Don't let him win. Don't you dare let him win. All he wants is power… Don't give him the satisfaction. _The soldier stated over and over again in his mind. He could tell he was completely bare and that Moriarty was as well, but he did his best to ignore it.

"Does Sherlock know how beautiful you are, John?" Jim's voice pierced John's mental barrier and he shivered, desperately trying to burry himself in his thoughts, to be anywhere but in the room. "Doesn't matter, he'll never find you beautiful after this."

In spite of all of John's attempt to block out what he knew was coming, he still felt it, the pain as Moriarty ripped him apart from the inside out. John cried out in agony and sorrow before biting a pillow harshly, trying to keep himself from screaming, trying to keep the smug smirk off of Moriarty's face.

John hopelessly thrashed against his bonds hoping to get away, but all he did was reopen the wounds on his wrists, allowing blood to drain from him and roll onto the pristine, white silk sheets. "Poor Sherlock, he should have had you while he had the chance… You're mine now, Dr. Watson, never forget it." Moriarty whispered into John's ear as he thrust into him. He bit harshly into John's shoulder, leaving two deep, crescent shaped gashes on the doctors shoulder. Marking him forever, ruining Dr. John Watson.

* * *

I promise i won't make you all read through that kind of thing again-in this story. Abuse yes...rape, no. I'll make it at least a bit lighter.

Poor, poor John.


	10. Don't Tell Sherlock

I am writing like a mad woman, just so everyone knows. I have two hours before I am being relocated to a world without internet...sorry. I don't know if I'll have this story completed before then. But I will try.

I don't own Sherlock, if i did John wouldn't like me.

* * *

Don't Tell Sherlock

"Come on, Johnny Boy…" Moriarty whispered as Seb pulled John to his feet. "It's time to go home." John didn't fight either of them as they dragged him out of the house and into a waiting car. His body ached from Moriarty's abuse and his head was fuzzy from the dosages of poison his body had taken in. He heard the door slam as he slummed against the back seat, trying to keep his weight off of his most sensitive areas as much as he possibly could. "Do you think Sherlock will take you back?" Moriarty asked curiously. "After all of the _naughty_ things you've been up to, I don't know if he'll look at you again."

"Sod off." John hissed weakly.

"Still a fighter… I love that about you, ever a soldier. How brave of you, how stupid and pedestrian of you." Moriarty sang in his high voice. "Too bad it's all for naught isn't it?" John closed his eyes tightly, wishing everything would just go away. He felt the car stop a while later and was ecstatic to see 221B looming over him. "Well, I can't wait to see you again. We just had so much fun didn't we?" John didn't answer, he sat up and painfully pushed the door open, trying to get away from Moriarty as quickly as he could. He got out of the car and heard the voice call out to him one last time. "Good luck telling Sherlock what you've done."

John limped on his shaking, weak legs towards. 221B he struggled up the steps, groaning and gasping in pain as he forced himself forward. If it wasn't for the fact that there was safety at the top of the stairs he wouldn't have pushed himself, he would have collapsed. He pushed open the door to his flat painfully. Every inch of him hurt and he wanted nothing more than to collapse, comatose, unfeeling.

Shirley walked out of the kitchen, a cup of tea in her hand. She looked up at the door and looked at the man standing in the doorway. John's skin was beaten and bruised nearly all over his skin. His shirt was torn and bloody. His wrists were chaffed and caked with blood. The inside legs of his trousers were bloodied. Shirley dropped the mug to the floor and it shattered with a loud tinkling sound. "John…" She ran forward and wrapped her arms around him, supporting his weight.

"I know that you know…about, everything…" John gasped, his eyesight blurring. "Please, don't tell Sherlock… Please." John pleaded. "Promise me."

"I won't, I swear." Shirley stated, just before John collapsed into her arms, unconscious. Shirley slowly lay John down on the floor and grabbed John's phone from the table. She babbled a few words, attempting to imitate John's voice and being quite successful at it. She quickly dialed the memorized number before placing the mobile to her ear.

"Mycroft Holmes." Shirley ached inside, hearing her elder brother's voice.

"Mycroft, I need your help." Shirley stated in John's voice, making it a bit rough, tired, warn.

"I was under the impression you were abducted, have you evaded your captors."

"Don't ask…long story. I don't have much longer before I pass out. I need you to help me."

"Where are you?" Mycroft asked worriedly.

"Baker Street…"

"Where's Sherlock?"

"Not here, I don't want him here… I'm—I don't want him to know what has happened…to me…"

"I'll be there in a minute, I need you to stay awake John. Keep talking to me." Mycroft insisted, Shirley could hear him slam a door on the other side of the line.

"I can't stay awake… I need a hospital…but Sherlock…he can't know… Don't tell him, promise me."

"He'll kill me for doing this, but I won't tell him a thing." Shirley could hear the sincerity in his voice.

"Th-thank…y-you…" Shirley stuttered before dropping the phone next to John. She gathered all evidence of her existence and hid it under Sherlock's bed before she watched from behind Sherlock's door as John lay unconscious on the ground. She saw Mycroft enter the room quickly a few minutes later, kneeling next to John.

"Oh, John… What have they done to you?" Mycroft asked in a broken voice. "Sherlock will kill every last one of them is he finds out." Shirley could see Mycroft putting together the information, how he was flogged, cut, drugged, raped, and beaten in his head, visibly angry at the agony they put John through. Mycroft wrapped his arms tightly around the doctor, lifting him from the floor and carrying him out of the room. He came back a few minutes later and cleaned the floor, ensuring that no blood remained, that nothing would set Sherlock off on the hunt for John.

Mycroft left quickly and Shirley heard the car pull away. She closed her eyes and sent off a silent prayer in John's direction, hoping that a kind and Just God would guide him to a safe recovery.

888

John slowly opened his eyes to a very clean room. He saw a tall figure next to his bed, holding an umbrella. "Welcome back, Dr. Watson." Mycroft stated.

"Where am I?" John groaned, his muscles still obscenely sore.

"A government hospital. Don't worry, Sherlock doesn't know that you're here yet. I was going to call him, now that we've got you mostly put back together again. He won't be able to tell that you were…you know." Mycroft said trying to be delicate.

"How did you know to find me?" John asked.

"Don't you remember? You called me, begged me to find you, to keep Sherlock out of the know…" Mycroft said, raising a concerned eyebrow.

_Shirley… God I owe her a lot. _"Oh, I can't recall… Thank you, so much…for everything." John smiled at Mycroft as best as he can, who nodded back solemnly.

"You broke your right wrist, the wounds received from the flogger are going to heal, some may scar, but they will heal, you're bruises will go away, whatever they were drugging you with will be out of your system in a few days, the strain on your left shoulder will make movement difficult for a while, but you'll be fine…" Mycroft paused and frowned. "You're clean, John… The…kit…it came back all negative. You'll be alright." John's whole body tightened and his hand shook. Mycroft gently grabbed John's hand, trying to relax him.

"I'm fine." The doctor insisted.

"Shall I call Sherlock? I promise you he will have no access to your files." Mycroft stated, watching the doctor carefully. John nodded slowly. Mycroft opened his phone and hit the first speed-dial.

"What do you want, Mycroft? Have you found John?" Sherlock's voice was frantic, worried, sad.

"I found him. He's in the hospital right now. He's just woken up from surgery. Moriarty took him back to 221B… I saw it on the CCTV."

"Thank God…" Sherlock breathed. "Is he alright? Can I talk to him? Where are you?"

"Calm down, Sherlock…" Mycroft advised.

"Don't tell me to fucking calm down, Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted. Mycroft was stunned, he hadn't heard his brother cuss since…well, it had been ages. Mycroft kindly told Sherlock where they were before he looked at John.

"Strong enough to talk?" John nodded after a moment, he tried to reach for the phone, but his arm throbbed and he lowered his hand. "You'll be on speaker, Sherlock." Mycroft advised before he got up. "I'll see about more pain medication, Dr. Watson." Mycroft patted John's good shoulder before leaving the room.

"John? Are you alright?" Sherlock's panicked voice hit John's ears.

"I'm fine, Sherlock." John said, his voice raspy from disuse.

"You don't sound fine…" Sherlock observed. "I'm so sorry John… I found where they were holding you an hour too late… I'm so sorry. I wanted to find you but I—"

"Don't blame yourself, Sherlock, please don't." John begged.

"John I—what did they do to you?" Sherlock stated, changing his topic quickly, but then he paused. "Bit not good… I shouldn't ask you that…" Sherlock mumbled to himself. "Too soon." John smiled slightly as Mycroft and a nurse entered the room.

"You learned something from me." John weakly chuckled.

"I try to, John…"

"Don't!" John shouted, pulling away from the nurse who was brandishing a needle filled with pain killers.

"John! What is it? Are you in trouble?" Sherlock asked.

"John, calm down…" Mycroft soothed. "She's only going to put a pain killer in your IV." Mycroft put his hand gently on John's shoulder.

"Please…don't… I can't… I c-can't take it."

"Don't make him do anything that he doesn't want to do, Mycroft!" Sherlock hissed. "I'm almost there John."

"It is only Toradol. It's just going to alleviate the pain, I promise you that." Mycroft soothed.

"I don't want medicine… I don't feel pain." John insisted.

"You can't move your arm, John." Mycroft retorted. "You are a strong person, seeing you struggle is an obvious sign you are in pain."

"What if this isn't real? I don't need any more of that…blasted drug… I won't keep my sanity if I have it." There was shouting down the hall until suddenly the door burst open. John stared at Sherlock for a long moment before sighing in relief. Sherlock ran instantly to John's side and grabbed his hand.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, looking into John's eyes. John nodded. "What is that?" Sherlock asked sharply, staring at the nurse.

"Toradol, it's a pain killer, nothing more." The nurse promised.

"Anything you give him, you're giving to me first." Sherlock insisted. "He doesn't need to be any more afraid. He needs to be at peace and you're only scarring him. I don't care what it does to me, give it to me first so he can see that it isn't bad."

"Sherlock—?" Mycroft started.

"I've done worse, shut up. Bring the medicine in here so we know it's identical." Sherlock ordered. Mycroft nodded to the nurse who dashed off. She returned a moment later with a labeled, unopened bottle of Toradol and two needles. She drew a small amount into one and a larger amount into the other. "I told you to give me exactly what he's having, nothing less. He needs to know it's not going to hurt him." Sherlock said holding out his arm to Mycroft, who somehow understood the gesture and rolled up Sherlock's sleeve, not rolling his eyes (strangely enough).

The nurse put an IV into Sherlock's arm quickly before giving him the drug. "I don't think it's ethical to—"

"You've already done it, don't worry about your job, if you hadn't done it no one would have hired you again… Mycroft would have made sure of it." Sherlock stated before grabbing John's hand again, comfortingly.

"You are a great friend…" John said softly to Sherlock.

"A good friend wouldn't have let you go alone… A good friend would have found you."

"I didn't say you were a good friend, I said you were a great friend…" John corrected. "You could have just told them to force the medicine on me."

"But that would be a bit not good." Sherlock said with a small frown. John smiled at him and relaxed next to him. The Sherlock in his hallucinations never said 'a bit not good', it made John grasp at a hope that perhaps this was the real Sherlock standing in front of him.

"Is this real?" John asked Sherlock softly.

"Obviously… Why wouldn't it be real?" Sherlock asked with a confused look on his face, but then his eyes narrowed on John. "They drugged you…" Sherlock deduced. "What were the effects? Ah there I go again! Bit not good!" John squeezed his hand.

"No…it's okay… They were hallucinogenic… I saw things… I never want to see again." John said looking at a spot on the wall with great interest. Sherlock could feel a buzzing in his head as the medicine kicked in, his body numbing slightly.

"You saw someone you knew…" Mycroft stated slowly, but regretted it when John's eyes dashed to Sherlock before he glared at Mycroft.

"Oh…John…" Sherlock whispered, leaning his head lightly against his friend's side. "I'm sorry…"

"It's not your fault, Sherlock." John whispered.

"Are you satisfied with the medicine, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock looked seriously at John.

"It's fine, John. It's not going to hurt you. I promise."

"You can…can…" John nodded, but looked away from the nurse, afraid to see the needle. She quickly gave him the medicine and left him, Mycroft in tow. "Don't let them put anything strange in me, please." John pleaded.

"I won't. I won't even leave your side." Sherlock nodded.

"Thank you…" John looked around slowly. "I'm tired…but I'm afraid to sleep…" Sherlock leaned against John's side.

"You can sleep, John. You need the rest. I promise, no one will touch you. Never again." Sherlock ran his hand through John's short blond hair. John sighed and closed his eyes, feeling safe with Sherlock, even if he was a little more sensitive than he normally was.

888

John was home a month later, almost completely healed, with Sherlock none-the-wiser. Sherlock was out getting milk when Shirley walked into John's room. "Hello, John."

"Hi, Shirley…" John replied.

"You should talk about it, you know… I get that you can't tell Sherlock…but still. They used the drug on you didn't they?" Shirley wondered. John stared at her blankly for a moment, tears in the corners of his eyes. He nodded and she sat gently on the edge of his bed. "Did they control your thoughts?" Another nod. "Sherlock?"

"Y-yes…" John nodded. He knew he needed to talk, and he knew Shirley would be the only person in the world who would understand him. "The first day Moriarty did nothing but talk to me about…how he knew I loved Sherlock… He was right of course, but god I didn't want him to know it. He knocked me unconscious and when I woke up Sherlock was with me… He called me stupid and dull and beat the crap out of me…but he looked like Sherlock, so I couldn't…I wouldn't hit him back." John sighed. "I woke up again, back in the prison… He beat me for several days and then… He…raped me…four times…five…I lost count. Then he left me unconscious. I woke up and Sherlock was in the room…and we…I…"

"You admitted your feelings to him…" Shirley understood instantly what had happened.

"And then…" John began crying fiercely. Suddenly a new wave of realization pierced Shirley as she watched the soldier in front of her cry…he had done more than admit his feelings, he had acted on them. "I thought it was really Sherlock, Shirley. I thought he was the one admitting his love for me… I thought he was the one holding me… I thought he was the one… Oh God…" John broke down, shaking. Shirley wrapped her arms around him tightly.

"It's alright… It's okay… It wasn't your fault." Shirley promised him. "You were drugged, you were hallucinating. That drug is powerful and damn near impossible to see through."

"That's no excuse…for what I did…with that psychopath." John spat.

"You did those things with Sherlock, John… You saw Sherlock, you love Sherlock, you didn't betray him." Shirley said, holding onto John and allowing him to cry against her shoulder.

"Would he run away if I told him?" John asked, sobbing.

"No, he would never leave you. He loves you far too much. He's just too afraid to admit it to himself." Shirley stated. "Sh…It's over now… It's alright. I promise you're safe now." The door burst open seven minutes later to a livid looking Sherlock.

"What have you done to him?"

"Nothing." Shirley promised, holding onto the tearful John.

"What is it…?" Sherlock asked in a kinder voice, moving forward to touch John's shoulder.

"I'm just…tired… I'm being silly…so stupid." John said, rubbing his eyes and looking at Sherlock guiltily.

"You'll be alright." Shirley promised, before she got up. "I'm going to make you some tea. Watch him, Sherlock." She left the two of them in the room together, closing the door on the two of them embracing, John trying to relax and Sherlock providing him every opportunity to do so.

* * *

Next chapter soon.


	11. A Choice

Think i can write three chapters in one day? Let's test it!

* * *

A Choice

Mycroft sat at his desk, thinking to himself. It had been months since John had come back, yet there still was no word from Moriarty, but then again, he might have thought that too soon. Anthea walked into the room (strangely not carrying her phone) with a package in her hands. "This just arrived at the door for you…" Mycroft looked at it strangely as it was set on his desk directly in front of him. The envelope was old fashioned and bulging slightly in the center. His name was neatly written in red ink on the page.

Mycroft Holmes

XXX

"Who was it from? The handwriting is neat, but obviously a male wrote it… Who sent it?" Mycroft inquired.

"There was no name, just the three x's." Anthea shrugged, pulling out her mobile again and leaving the room, tapping away.

"Three kisses… Ah…Moriarty…" Mycroft stated, opening the envelop slowly before sliding the contents onto his desk. A sleek black mobile came into view along with a piece of paper with a poem, a strange garbled set of letters, and a note written on it.

_Your brother is a liar and I know how to prove it. See if you can prove it as well._

_In the light I appear...  
In me things disappear...  
It's me that people fear...  
But, it's alright my dear...  
I'm always right here..._

_That's you're only clue, you're smart though, I bet you'll get it. You don't have much time though, the surprise won't be alive for long, so hurry. Text me when you figure it out._

_XXX__Moriarty_

Mycroft began to look at the paper, searching for whatever clues it could hold. Hoping that he could break it fast enough…

888

Three and a half hours later

Shirley woke with a dull ache in her head that was becoming surprisingly familiar to her yet again. She opened her eyes and looked around the living room of 221B. She could feel that her hands were bound behind the chair she was strapped to and that he legs were tied to the feet of the chair.

"I knew you would wake up first. You're family has a very high tolerance for drugs, I must say that." Moriarty beamed at her. Shirley glanced to her side and saw John Watson tied similarly to the chair next to her and saw Sebastian Moran standing behind him.

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment, just an observation." Moriarty stated.

"I know, but I'll take whatever I can get." Shirley tried to shrug, but her arms were far too restrained to move. "So…you are going to kill us here?"

"Oh heavens no…" Moriarty said in his sing-song voice. "Sherlock should be joining us in a moment and when he does he will have to choose between both of you." He smiled at Shirley. "I'm sure you can figure out what happens next, I gave you a clue, you know."

"You are going to have Sherlock pick between the two of us…then obviously you are taking the two of us away from here. You said you wouldn't kill anyone here, so obviously the one Sherlock decides must die somewhere outside of this flat. You wish to punish Sherlock, so you are going to take the one he wants to live away from here and torture them until Sherlock finds them. I suppose that if you get the chance you will kill Sherlock and the one still alive at that point."

"Clever girl." Moriarty pinched her cheek. "You are just about as fast as your brother."

"I have a lot to live up to…it doesn't help that I'm the slowest one in the family."

"Ah, you may be slower than Mycroft and Sherlock, but you understand things they never will. That's how you know who is going to survive this." Moriarty smiled at her.

"I do know who it is… Sherlock doesn't though."

"Don't worry, I'll give you five minutes to tell him all about it. You can tell him who to choose." Moriarty sang.

"Where's Mycroft?" Shirley wondered.

"Oh…you aren't as clever as I supposed. This was never about Mycroft. If I wanted to bring him down I could have blown up the phone that will be arriving in his office in three hours." Moriarty stated, looking at his watch casually. "I have no need to kill him."

"You said three falls though…" Shirley stated.

"Yes… You and John shall fall to your deaths of course… Mycroft though…he's got something special coming for him. He let poor Sherlock shoulder the blame for your death all of those years, whether he realized it or not… Though Mycroft is ever so repentant for neglecting his little brother, he hasn't ever asked forgiveness… He might finally see the light when he learns you were right under his nose the entire time and he was too pompous to see it."

"So you are going to kill him… You are going to rip his heart out by making him watch me die." Shirley nodded in understanding.

"No… I'm going to make him chase after you… Perhaps I'll send him little reminders of how you are being tortured… Sherlock will be far too distracted with Johnny Boy and by the time Mycroft gets to you you'll be dead and Sherlock will be forced to take me and Seb alone, resulting in John and Sherlock's deaths."

"Brilliant." Shirley said truthfully.

"Thank you, I love being the one in control of the game." Moriarty cheered.

"Am I allowed to make a request?"

"You can always ask, not that I will always comply, but you can always ask."

"Don't use that drug on me…"

"Ah… You were driven out of your mind for quite a while because of it weren't you? I suppose it would hurt to lose control of your own mind like that. We'll have to see about that." Shirley jumped when she heard a soft groan next to her.

"John? Please stay relaxed, trust me. You need to stay calm." Shirley advised.

"Why am I—? Moriarty…" John answered his own question before he opened his eyes.

"Very good Johnny Boy. Have you missed me? Did you tell Sherlock about all of our fun times together? Oh he must have been jealous! I wish I could have seen his face."

"John remember what I—"

"I know, Sher." John nodded at her, ignoring Moriarty completely.

"Ah, you didn't tell Sherlock… No bother, he'll find out soon enough." The door downstairs opened and closed slowly. "Guest of honor has finally arrived." Moriarty smiled before standing behind Shirley with a gun to her head. John felt Seb place a gun to his head and he sent a look of worry toward Shirley, who nodded back to him, smiling slightly to comfort him. Sherlock walked slowly into the room and his eyes instantly fell on John.

"Are you alright, John…? Shirley?" The second name was almost an afterthought.

"They're fine, Sherlock. Why don't you have a seat?" Moriarty asked, gesturing to the sofa.

"I'd rather stand." Sherlock answered.

"Seb, shot John somewhere painful… A knee perhaps." Sherlock moved quickly and sat down, never letting his eyes stray from Moriarty. "Ah…you learn so quickly, dear Sherlock." A third man walked out of the kitchen and began to tie Sherlock to the couch, ensuring that Sherlock would never be able to free himself. "Ah all better now." Moriarty said, lowering his gun as Seb lowered his own.

"It's time to make your choice, Sherlock. Are you going to let your dearest sister die or are you going to kill your loyal blogger? Either way, I win." Moriarty smiled. John glanced at Shirley with wide eyes. "I'll give you five minutes, but that's the end of it."

"What if I don't decide?" Sherlock inquired.

"Then they both die and I leave you here as they slowly bleed to death in front of your eyes. Like I said, either way I win." Moriarty chuckled. "You're time starts now, angel."

"Sherlock, she's your sister. Keep her safe." John said after a moment of silence where Sherlock looked back and forth between the two people in front of him.

"Sherlock…" Shirley said slowly. "You already know the answer to this… Just feel. Learn to feel for once in your life, Sherlock. Do what your heart tells you is right, not your head." Sherlock and Shirley stared at each other for two solid minutes. Their grey eyes were identical as they silently communicated all of their thoughts to one-another. John stared at both of them, confused.

"One minute." Moriarty sang, making all three of the captives jump at the sound. Sherlock nodded to Shirley who smiled slightly in return.

"I'm sorry John…" Sherlock said quietly. John nodded in understanding, waiting for the gun to be placed to his head, but then he saw Sherlock look at him. "Though you provided a perfectly sound analysis, I feel you are incorrect."

"So Shirley here is to die?" Moriarty smiled. "I knew it… I just knew it. So predictable, Sherlock!" He shoved a needle into Shirley's shoulder harshly. She gasped and slowly her face began to relax as she passed out.

"Sherlock—!" John exclaimed, confused.

"Let John go…" Sherlock ordered.

"I don't think so… I think you should come and find him… Good luck getting out." Moriarty stated. "I'll send someone to help you with that." A second needle was shoved into John's skin. Instantly John's face paled.

"I'll find you, John. I promise. I'll find you." Sherlock stated.

"Sher-lock…" John passed out.

"Take them to the car." The two men cut John and Shirley loose, dragging them away from 221B with Sherlock watching intently. "I've left you a present, Sherlock, John's been lying to you and I thought you should know what he was hiding." Moriarty reached behind the couch and pulled out a large black bag. He slowly pulled out something silky and milky white. Sherlock immediately recognized them as bed sheets. Moriarty unfolded them, revealing bloodstains that stained the sheet. "You're a smart man, Sherlock… I'm sure you can figure it out. I've left further evidence on the dvd over there…"

"You bastard." Sherlock spat at Moriarty.

"You won't think that after you've seen what I've seen." Moriarty smirked. "Have a good day." Moriarty stated, leaving the world's only consulting detective hopelessly tied to a chair.

* * *

An Moriarty strikes again!


	12. A Message

A/N: Sorry it took so long, but I did warn you that I would be out of town. I will be leaving yet again tomorrow morning, so i don't know when I'll update again. I wrote a one-shot and have started a new story that will be put up for your entertaiment (allusion to a music album if you missed it). I hope you enjoy it.

I don't own Sherlock...but I do own every episode and I know how to fold a black lotus...just throwing that out there... I left one in my brother's room because he called Sherlock stupid... He obviously doesn't get what kind of trouble he's in... :)

* * *

A Message

Mycroft sat at his desk and interpreted the poem quickly.

_In the light I appear...  
In me things disappear...  
It's me that people fear...  
But, it's alright my dear...  
I'm always right here..._

Shadows. The answer to the poem was Shadows, obviously. Mycroft stared at the letters below the poem in question, until he noticed all of the capital letters.

_fo__**S**__eht__**H**__eerht__**A**__i__**D**__dnetni__**O**__ot__**W**__llik__**S**__ehs__**S**__si__**H**__eno__**A**__fo__**D**__meht__**O**__eht__**W**__eno__**S**__uoy__**S**__devol__**H**__llits__**A**__sevil__**D**__eht__**O**__lrig__**W**__detcudba__**S**__ta__**S**__a__**H**__laticer__**A**__devil__**D**__kcolrehs__**O**__dnuof__**W**__sih__**S**__nwit_

Mycroft instantly deleted the letters from the jumbled mess of letters and left them out of his thinking process. Yet still, the groupings of letters made no sense… Until he realized the words were backwards. He quickly wrote down what was meant by the words and froze when he read through the message.

_Of the three I intend to kill, she is one of them. The one you loved still lives. The girl abducted at a recital lived. Sherlock found his twin._

"Shirley…?" Mycroft said with a shocked look on his face. He instantly lifted the phone and began to send a text.

_WHERE IS SHIRLEY! _

"Anthea! Bring my car round now!" Mycroft shouted.

_Come and see… 221B. Xxx—M _

Mycroft grabbed his umbrella and quickly left the room, texting as he went.

_If you've hurt her, you will pay gravely._

_If you don't hurry, you'll be too late. Tick-tock, Ice Man. Xxx—M _

Mycroft got into his car and shouted at the driver. "221B Baker Street, move!" Mycroft fidgeted with his umbrella restlessly until he felt a warm hand on his.

"Stress doesn't make anything move faster." Anthea said wisely. Mycroft glanced at her and nodded.

"It doesn't mean that I suddenly stop feeling stressed." Mycroft stated, his fingers twitching slightly, but not fidgeting as they had been. Anthea glanced at him solemnly before returning her attention to her phone.

Mycroft nearly jumped for joy when there was a lack of traffic and they had made it to 221B within twenty minutes. He flung himself out of the car and with uncanny grace began to walk to the door. The phone chirped in his hand and he looked down at it.

_Too late, Mr. Holmes. _

Mycroft's eyes widened and he quickly burst into the flat. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening to someone struggling upstairs. "…Mycroft!" Sherlock's voice called loudly from the flat above. Mycroft shot up the stairs and pushed his way into Sherlock's flat. His brother was tied down to the sofa, his wrists bleeding, proving that he had been struggling to get free from the ropes for some time. Though the detective was ungodly skinny, the bonds were tied expertly in such a way that no matter how Sherlock struggled he would never be able to get free. Tears streaked Sherlock's face and his lips trembled. "Help me. Mycroft please hurry! He has John!" Mycroft went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife before returning to cut his brother loose.

"Where is she?" Mycroft asked.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked as he ripped the bonds off of himself as quickly as he could with his bloody hands.

"Where is Shirley?" Mycroft demanded.

"She's with Moriarty, as good as dead. John is still alive though. I need to find him!" Sherlock stood up quickly and looked at the bloody sheets that lay before him. His eyes were as hard as steal thinking about what Moriarty had done to John. _No wonder John took so long to recover… _Sherlock thought. _John normally heals so quickly…he was hurt emotionally though…harder to recover._

"Are you giving up on Shirley? How dare you—"

"She told me to give up on her. She told me to think with my heart, not my head. She wanted me to save John and that's what I'm going to do. I may just be learning to feel for the first time, but I can't lose John…not like this, not ever."

"Shirley is your sister! Our sister! Have you forgotten about your family?"

"I had to choose who lived and who died. I've lost Shirley before…I was beaten, addicted to hurtful drugs, and thrown out of my real life for twelve years. I lost John for three years and nearly killed myself the pain was so great. My head told me that Shirley should live for the family, my heart told me I couldn't live without John. She knew what I would think and chose her fate herself. If I can manage it, we'll find them both." Sherlock stated. "John's the priority though, Moriarty is going to keep him alive." Sherlock stated as he quickly began to search for the DVD Moriarty had left. He knew he probably wouldn't want to watch it, but he also knew Moriarty would have a cryptic little hint somewhere in the video.

"What is that?" Mycroft asked when Sherlock jumped to his feet, running to the Telly.

"A torture video…" Sherlock said solemnly as he switched the DVD on. The first image Sherlock saw was John, lying unconscious in a bed with bloodied sheets, naked and tethered to the bed frame. Sherlock could tell just how much John had struggled to get away by the blood that ran down his arms from his wrists. Every inch of his skin was broken and bruised, bite marks littered his back and shoulders.

The screen went black and cut to a shot of Moriarty, holding a needle in his hand. "Hello, Sherlock. My guess is that John will never tell you what happened here…to spare you and all of that _noble, dull, angel _stuff… So I thought I would explain it. This drug in my hand is the very drug they used on Shirley, Sherlock. I'm sure you know what it does, but I think I'll refresh you. It gives the taker controllable hallucinations. I can walk in there after he's had this and make him think I'm his sister…but I'm going to do much more than that… Let me show you the game as I see it."

Suddenly Sherlock could see back into John's room. Moriarty lurked over his unconscious form and injected the drug into John's system before undoing all of his bonds. Moriarty then took out a small recorder and set it on the side table, pressing play.

"People do little else." Sherlock heard his own voice say in the video. "Catch you later…" Several different phrases Sherlock had said were replayed as Sherlock stared in horror.

"He's making it so John sees you when he wakes." Mycroft said in an aghast voice. Sherlock nodded slowly. He watched as John slowly became conscious. Before John could sit up, Moriarty walked back into the room and shut off the tape, waiting for John to wake up completely.

"Sherlock?" John asked in a hoarse voice.

"It's me, John." John's body seemed to relax completely at the response, as if he couldn't hear Moriarty's voice, only Sherlock's.

"How did you get me back here? I thought I would never get out."

"You were very brave… I'm just sorry it took so long for me to find you." Moriarty said, sitting next to John on the bed.

"Sherlock…I…thank you so much…" John said, relieved. Moriarty ran his hand gently down John's back, as if he were a lover caressing him and not a madman.

"Anything for you John… I love you." Sherlock's heart shattered at what Moriarty was doing to John, what he had done to John.

"I love you too, Sherlock, so much." John promised. Sherlock's heart pounded in his chest. John loved him? How could such a wonderful man love him? But, Sherlock couldn't doubt the statement of love no matter how hard he tried, John looked completely sincere. Moriarty refused to give John the easy way out of anything. He kissed John tenderly before trapping him under his weight, but John, still thinking it was Sherlock, responded. Sherlock closed his eyes and bowed his head, tears falling from his eyes as he listened to the heavy breathing, pants, and groans of the man he loved and his worst enemy.

Sherlock felt an arm drape over his shoulders comfortingly and for the first time since Shirley's first disappearance Sherlock curled up against his brother's side, crying. Mycroft held his brother tightly, trying to protect Sherlock as much as he could, to comfort him. "We'll find both of them Sherlock… I promise." Sherlock sniffed into Mycroft's chest before he forced himself to return his eyes to the Telly. The image of John and Moriarty making love would forever burn in Sherlock's mind, but the rational part of Sherlock's mind told him that John only saw Sherlock, only loved Sherlock.

The screen went black after the sounds of ecstasy had ended. A picture of a pool filled the screen and Sherlock knew where he had to go. "Come on, Mycroft! We have to get to the pool, now!"

888

Mycroft and Sherlock ran towards the pool, but Mycroft grabbed Sherlock tightly. "We can't just rush in there."

"Don't be dense, they aren't there, another hint is in here. Besides, I've taken John's gun with me." Sherlock commented escaping Mycroft's grasp and breezing into the large room. The walls sparkled as light reflected off of the water. A sharp scream pieced the room. Sherlock an Mycroft both looked towards the source, a Telly with Shirley on it. She was chained to a ceiling and was being whipped across her back.

"Sherlock and Mycroft are finally there, love." Moriarty's voice said happily. "Aren't you glad they can finally see you—especially Mycroft, the dear brother you've been missing oh so terribly?" Mycroft stared at the woman hanging from the ceiling with wide eyes, pain searing in his chest. Shirley seemingly stared at her brothers before she lowered her face.

"I'm sorry…" Shirley said softly. Sherlock grabbed Mycroft's hand and pointed to a little red light in the corner.

"She can see us, hear us as well I bet." Sherlock commented. He could tell by looking at Shirley that she was uncomfortable in the chains, her hands were trembling. He hadn't recalled her shaking when she had been tied to the chair in the flat, but then he recalled the mostly vacant look on her face, the face she put on whenever she was somewhere very far away within the recesses of her mind, a place where her own memories didn't exist, a place she could forget everything, even herself.

"Good deduction, Sherlock!" Moriarty's voice sang lightly.

"Shirley…?" Mycroft asked slightly.

"Hello Mycroft..." Shirley said in a shaky voice, louder than her last words.

"How?"

"It doesn't matter…" Shirley commented. "It really doesn't matter how I am alive anymore."

"Shirley?" Sherlock asked cautiously. Shirley's eyes darted around for a moment before she smiled slightly.

"Don't worry about it, Sherlock. There is _liberty in _death." She said in a brave voice, raising her eyebrows slightly, only enough for Sherlock to notice.

_Liberty in death? _Sherlock wondered. _LIBERTY IN! Baskerville! That's where they are! God, you're a genius Shirley._

"Don't feel bad Sherlock… I completely understand. You had a choice, you made the right one. There's really no one to miss me when I'm gone." Shirley stated, silently acknowledging the silence thank you Sherlock was sending her way.

"You're wrong! We'll miss you, Shirley." Mycroft insisted, tears running down the usually stoic and pompous man's face. Shirley looked at him and attempted to smile.

"It was so good to see you again… To hear your voice again…" Mycroft and Sherlock's eyes widened as the watched Moriarty appear behind Shirley, holding a whip in his hand. "I—AH!" Shirley screamed at the unexpected blow to her lower back. She arched her back, her feet coming up off of the ground and the wounds on her manacled wrists opened, blood flowing down her arms.

"Shirley!" Mycroft shouted, pain obvious in his voice. Sherlock's eyes burn with anger as Moriarty smirks at the noise.

"Don't…mind…any of this." Shirley stated. "Go, you needn't stay here. Leave, find John, Sherlock… Please, find John." Sherlock nodded and slowly started to turn away. "Sherlock?" Shirley's soft voice inquired. "I love you." Sherlock slowly turned around and looked at his sister with his grey eyes. "I k-know that you love me too… I am very in tune to your feelings… I've known it all along…but I would really like to hear you say it… Just once, only once. That's all I need right now." Shirley's eyes were brimming with unshed tears, her hands still trembling in her bonds.

"I love you, Shirley." Sherlock said softly, knowing his sister was completely correct. She closed her eyes and two tears rolled down her face. A smile lit up her features and her hands quite shaking for the briefest moment.

"You had better make sure I am not the only person you tell that to, Sherlock Holmes." Shirley's eyes opened and pierced his.

"Of course…" Sherlock nodded. Sherlock almost turned away when he saw the camera angle on the telly begin to turn. Sherlock's eyes met John's. His skin was broken and bruised, everywhere. Blood ran down his hands.

"Why don't you tell him now, Sherlock?" Moriarty's voice stated. "Why don't you just tell him? Tell him, Sherlock." Sherlock saw John's eyes look directly into the detectives.

"I'm going to find you, John… I promise." Sherlock said quietly. John nodded in understanding before a whip hit his back, three times. John didn't scream, but he certainly wanted to. He had already had a flaming hot iron taken to his back and the sting of a whip against his burns was excruciating, but he dare not cry out, not in front of Sherlock.

"You should tell him, Sherlock… Tell him what we both know you've been hiding." Moriarty said, twirling the whip in his hand. Sherlock didn't say a thing as he and John stared into each other's eyes. John was confused, curious and hoping Sherlock would enlighten him as he always did. "His funeral, Sherlock." Jim Moriarty said, raising the whip.

"NO!" Sherlock cried out, Moriarty smirked. "Don't hurt him…please…don't." Sherlock begged. John was shocked, he had never heard Sherlock beg before, only accept the times he longed for a case. He had never heard Sherlock plead with anyone before.

"Tell him, Sherlock…"

"John…I—" Sherlock slowly stated, looking up into John's blue eyes. John's eyes widened and Sherlock knew in that instant that John had done some deducing of his own. John _knew. _"I love you, John… Since the day you shot that bloody awful cabbie."

"Sherlock…" John spoke softly, his voice was hoarse, broken.

"I'm going to find you, John… I promise." Sherlock said, tears in his eyes.

"Oh, I thought you were going to tell him something different, Sherlock." Moriarty stated. "Like, perhaps, the fact that you know exactly what he did." Sherlock glared at Moriarty. "I thought you were going to tell him that you watched him make love to me. _Me, _Sherlock. Not you. _Never you._" John's eyes widened and his breath came in panicked gasps.

"Sherlock I—"

"It doesn't matter John… I know what that spider did to you. I promise you, he has changed nothing, John. Don't let him get to you." Sherlock whispered.

"Can't you see by the tears in John's eyes that I have already gotten to him, Sherlock? I own Doctor John Hamish Watson and Captain John Watson as well. I own every bit of him and you know there is nothing you can do about it."

"I can and will." Sherlock stated in his baritone voice.

"Doubtful," Moriarty sighed, gagging John before the camera changed angles yet again, behind John's back. The burns made Sherlock furious, but not as much as the blood down the backside of John's trousers, bloodstains not unlike the ones Sherlock had seen on the white, silk bed sheet. "I would have rapped your sister first, but Johnny Boy here is just so desirable… I couldn't resist. It's been an hour or so… I think he misses me." Moriarty said unbuttoning John's trousers and John struggled, trying desperately to get away. "Goodbye… Sherlock Holmes. Nice to see you again Mycroft. Perhaps you should wait to see me and Shirley performing next. I hear she's got a lovely body and spirit. Ciao."

* * *

Yes...I'm evil... Yes... I'm leaving it there. I am expecting people to send hate mail. I've built myself a castle to hide in, so let the assult commence. :D


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